


Tentative

by Acnara



Series: Tentative [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baby Harry Potter, Emotional Manipulation, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Inspired by Maleficent (2014), Parent Voldemort (Harry Potter), Platonic Soulmates, Rated For Violence, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Voldemort decides to co-parent baby Harry, take that as a whole warning for general Voldemort behaviour, we are dealing with Voldemort so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 46,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21911965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acnara/pseuds/Acnara
Summary: Everyone has a soul mark. It is not inherently romantic, it just means someone fits you, completes you. Lord Voldemort grew up believing he did not have such a thing, that he was above common folk.Then, one day, a prophecy happens. Someone who is his equal. And the Dark Lord would laugh at the very idea, but not a month later he finally earns a soulmark. Harry James Potter.The war kind of goes downhill from there.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Voldemort
Series: Tentative [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848607
Comments: 115
Kudos: 975
Collections: Chamber of Secrets' Winter Exchange (2019), Harry Potter





	1. Prologue: Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wiegenlied](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiegenlied/gifts).



> Thank you Caty and Kit, this story would be nothing without you. Same for tarot queens Eve and Ana, who helped me with the chapter titles.  
> Merry Christmas Modoki! :D I hope you like the fic and enjoy the ride!
> 
> For anyone interested:  
> Pinterest board: [Tentative board](https://pin.it/EPjRcFA)  
> Spotify playlist: [Tentative playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1p5UpCaALTqxsuC9bqSWur?si=IsPSSp51QC27g1ems6_40Q)  
> 

**Prologue.**

**The Wild Unknown deck**

-

The night is dark, the wind outside the window warm and howling, a blessing after the summer heat. The woman is lying on the bed, her hair looking like a bloodstain against the white sheets. She is crying.

"No. No, no, _no."_ Her voice cracks, half scream half plea, and the nurse frowns. 

"Mrs Potter, I'm going to need you to–"

"Lily!" James Potter rushes into the room, still in his nightwear, just as his wife was when they first arrived. He ignores the nurse. "Everything is going to be alright, Dumbledore is coming, you just need to hold on a little bit for a bit longer!"

Lily's only response is a chilling shriek, her eyes harsh on her husband before they close again. Her hands close around the sheets under her. The skin over her full stomach moves. _The baby_ is not going to wait.

They are in a small magical clinic, one that works as a muggle hospital, very close to Godric's Hollow. When Lily had woken up, her contractions too painful to ignore anymore, the very first thing she said was _not St Mungo._ She had looked at James terrified and, clenching her midsection, whispered, _He will know, He can't know._ And James, even scared and unsure of what to do, had known she was right. Even calling Dumbledore had been an afterthought. 

He looks at her wife now, her beautiful face twisted in pain. And worse, fear. If Lily delivers the baby tonight, the Dark Lord will know. They can try and hide it, but he will find out. If their child is born in July, he could be the child of the prophecy. 

And, if he was, they wouldn't survive for long.

"He was not supposed to be h-here until at least mid August," Lily whimpers. "Harry, _please…"_

The ground seemed to be spinning under James´s feet. Frank and Alice Longbottom had already assumed their son would be the child of the prophecy. Dumbledore had done it, too. They were hiding, protected by their old professor, and James couldn ́t wrap his mind around it not being true. Harry couldn´t be chosen one. Frank and Alice were Aurors, trained and talented, but James was not. Harry couldn´t be the prophecy child, because how was James going to protect him if he was? Lily sobs, as if they are thinking exactly the same thing.

"It's okay Lils, just hold on for a bit, it's almost past midnight and–" James is interrupted by his screaming wife again, the sound so chillin it shuts him up. 

"Why is she in so much pain?" he demands to the nurse, distress all over his features. What can he do? What should he do? "I thought there were spells for these things!"

"She is fighting the birth," the midwife, an older woman in blue mediwitch clothes, answers before the nurse can even open her mouth. She points at Lily as if she can't understand what is going on. "Spells can't do anything against that. They are supposed to help the mother _relax_ and push, not pull the child back in. Unless you want me to Iimperio her, there is nothing more I can do."

Lily grasps James's hand, her nails biting into his skin. The lights in the room flicker and the door opens. In comes a mediwizard, taking a surprised look at Lily lying in bed before he turns back to the midwife. 

"What is going on here?" he asks, casting a quick look around the room. He barely looks at James before he is already by Lily's side. "How long has she been like this?"

"The lady–" the midwife begins before Lily grips her arm.

"You have to stop it!" Lily cries. "Please, listen to me. You don't understand, just make him stay a couple more minutes."

"Mrs Potter... _Lily._ " The midwife grabs her hand, reassuring. "I know this is scary, and you are very young."

"No, no you don't understand." She cries again. "We have to wait." 

"He will be in danger," James mutters under his breath, his knuckles white between Lily's fingers. The midwife doesn't even look at him.

"These are indeed dark times, but your baby will not wait any longer, Mr Potter," she snarls at him.

The nurse is already casting some spell over Lily, the mediwizard whispering something to her before repeating the spell himself. Lily's body shakes as another visible contraction runs through her. James feels so useless, but he can't move. This can't be happening. Harry can't be born yet. He tightens his grip around Lily´s hand and she tenses all over again.

"Saena," the nurse says, her voice high pitched. "The baby."

The midwife goes rigid. She squeezes Lily's other hand and looks her deep in the eyes.

"Honey, you need to deliver this baby, and you need to deliver him now. He's going into distress. Do you understand?"

Lily shakes her hair and the red locks stick to her cheeks, wet with sweat and tears.

"I can't…" she sobs, curling her fingers around James's. "If I do, the Dark Lord will kill him."

The midwife's brows raise, alarmed, and James realises that she doesn't know. He had forgotten, but there were people living just a normal war. Some people didn't have to think about prophecies and chosen ones, about friends in hiding and the possibility of their children being murdered in their cradles. 

He had forgotten not everyone was aware of what _as the seventh month dies_ meant.

There is another contraction and Lily bites her lip raw. She muffles a scream and that seems to shake the midwife out of her stupor. 

"If you _don't_ , he won't need to." 

Lily looks at the midwife, her green eyes bright. James doesn't know what to do, but they stare at each other for what seems like a lifetime before Lily whimpers, and weakly nods.

"Alright…" she says, defeat on her tone. "Alright, now it is."

It's as if a tornado has entered the room. The nurse and the midwife start moving around the bed, barking orders to the mediwizard and Lily alike. They seem perfectly coordinated and, when Lily's breath quickens, they start working.

"You are doing amazing, Lils," James breathes into Lily's hair, his eyes glued to the clock hanging in the corner of the room. "You are doing a bloody brilliant work." Still five minutes until midnight. Maybe they can make it.

It is like stepping into organized chaos. James can only hold Lily and let her hold onto him, and let fate decide. The nurse is casting, the mediwizard doing something in the back, Lily keeps crying.

And then, in what feels like the blink of an eye, the midwife has something in her arms. A baby. Their baby. Future and prophecy lose their meaning as a small head topped with black hair moves in the midwife ́s arms.

James sees his son open his little mouth and breath in for the first time. The midwife stills, silence swallowing the room. As Harry's first cry echoes around the room, a small, pale mark appears on his shoulder.

The nurse smiles.

"I never grow tired of this part."

The baby's cries fill the room. It reaches all the way into James's very bones, and then _his son_ is right there. A little boy. Harry is covered in blood, and he screams as if he wants to let the world know he is finally here. As the midwife congratulates and exhausted Lily, the nurse cleans Harry's little body.

James doesn't look up, but he knows it's not midnight yet.

-

Many miles from there, in an old mansion in the countryside, Lord Voldemort stirs in his sleep. The english night air, cold even in midsummer, welcomes August and wakes him up abruptly. With a pained hiss Lord Voldemort clenches a pale wrist, where his skin aches as if burnt. The Dark Lord digs his long nails in his flesh and his eyes widen, confusion turning into disbelief and, then, awe.

There, in his right wrist, barely a few centimeters under his pulse, a lighting bolt.

A soulmark.


	2. The Star

**Chapter 1**

****

**The Wild Unknown deck**

**-**

"Are you sure?" The words resonate through the room, cold as ice. Wormtail, pathetic and near whimpering, nods, looking everywhere but at him. Lord Voldemort frowns. "I asked you a question. I expect an answer, _Peter."_

"Y-yes,” the boy finally says. And he is just a boy, the Dark Lord muses. A 21 year old child too afraid for this war. An excellent weapon. "The Longbottoms are not under Dumbledore's direct protection, they trust their house wards well enough, Dumbledore is more... backup." 

Bella, amusing, cruel Bella, lets out a high laugh. She seems bored with the traitor, maybe even angry. She always had a thing for loyalty above all, her Bella. 

"Do you plan on bringing any useful news, you rat?" she asks, eyes shining in the darkness of the room. "Maybe try something we don't know already? The Dark Lord is too busy for pitiful meetings like this.

Bella had not liked Wormtail when he had first crawled his way to the Dark Lord, knees trembling and eyes watering. She had called him weak and pathetic, and both he was. But Wormtail had also proven to be very useful lately, with the unexpected turn of events of the prophecy. The child, the chosen one. 

Lord Voldemort can feel his lips curling in the edges. Imagine being so naive to think you could hide the existence of a prophecy from Him. Dumbledore was losing his touch to this never ending war.

His touch and his followers, he reminds himself with a quick look at the boy at his feet. 

"I-I… well… I've mostly been with James." Wormtail speaks so low it is almost a whisper. He licks his lips in a rather disgusting gesture. The boy looks like he is about to cry. The Dark Lord stares, disgusted. "That's how I found it. We were sneaking into St Mungo, since little Harry needs to be registered in Hogwarts. We ran into Frank in Gringotts, when James was opening Harry a vault." 

It's all very inconsequential, and Bella is right. Lord Voldemort does not have time for this. But something seems to catch Lucius' attention. 

"A vault? So soon?" Lucius sounds somewhere between amused and utterly revolted. "Has the blood traitor forgotten a child must survive at least fifteen nights before they can enter the family name? That Mudblood has been a worse influence than previously thought. What a waste." 

The Dark Lord frowns.

"It seems so," he says. Wormtail, at Voldemort's feet, raises his eyes.

"Oh, Harry is past that mark," he says, sounding confused. "He is nineteen days old today. I'm sure, I have filled half a million goblin papers with James this morning, and…"

The Dark Lord freezes. Slowly, he stands up from his chair and walks towards the spy. They are in a weekly meeting, all his marked Death Eaters bringing in war reports. The room is barely big enough to hold them all at once. As Lord Voldemort stares down at him, Wormtail stands out. The only one on the floor. The only one unmarked.

The mark is an honour, a reward. Peter Pettigrew had yet to earn either. But maybe tonight...

Wormtail closes his mouth as if he had been cursed, following the Dark Lord with a frightened gaze. When Voldemort is merely a step away from Wormtail, he crouches, locking their eyes. Wormtail nearly recoils.

"What did you just say?" Voldemort asks. His voice is deceitfully soft. The Death Eaters nearer to them tense, no doubt going pale under their silver masks. The one closer to them takes in a deep breath, but Lord Voldemort barely pays attention to Severus Snape as he glares at Wormatil.

The room is quiet, but the Dark Lord hears his own breath loud as a dragon breathing fire.

"H-he has a vault–" Voldemort's fingers dig into Wormtail's soft cheeks, and the Dark Lord squeezes painfully, the movement fast like a viper.

"Not _that,_ you incompetent fool," he hisses, parseltongue almost breaking through his lips. "What did you say about his _age?"_ Wormtail closes his eyes, confused and afraid. Heavy tears run down his face. The Dark Lord tightens his hold and Wormtail looks up at him, in pain.

Before the room dissolves around him and the memories start, the Dark Lord hears him scream.

-0- 

Lord Voldemort sits, the night around him cold as winter starts to settle for the year. His room is quiet, only his books keeping him company in the heart of his Manor. He sits before the window, watching the last fading lights of the day. Absentmindedly, his thumb caresses the mark on his wrist.

The news is… disturbing.

He turns his red eyes down to the mark, stunningly new against his pale skin. If he hadn't checked a thousand times, he would not believe it to be there. The Dark Lord had been unmarked by fate for so long, his destiny so great, that he had convinced himself he must do it alone. Yet there it was. A perfectly formed soulmark scar printed on his inner wrist.

He had stared at it for hours, stunned into silence. He had thought he would be alone forever, no one worthy to stand by him. The closest time he had come to even desire a soulmate, someone he could share it all with, was when he was young. A pair of grey eyes and blond hair. Companionship, brotherhood, the eerie feeling of belonging. Something deeper than any meaningless connection the world around them had.

But the awe, the childlike wonder had burned down very quickly. Lord Voldemort was no longer a child, enamoured with the idea of ruling with someone as his true right hand. He had gotten out of bed, leaving the dead where they belonged, and had started to work. Because, he had realized, of course. He should have guessed it. His soulmate did exist, and it wasn't a pale, blond boy that had been dead for decades, killed by the muggle scum the Dark Lord was riding the world from. No, of course not. 

Lord Voldemort looks down to his pensive, where the memories of a pale Severus Snape tremble, his lips moving soundlessly. Voldemort doesn't need to hear his words though, he knows them by heart now.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..." he recites as Snape's mouth moves. How many times has he seen this memory? And yet, he had never seen the obvious. He had never _understood_. The mark in his wrist tingles. Never, until now.

Fate always smiled down at Lord Voldemort, even if sometimes it did so with a cruel glint in its eyes. Of course, the only person in the world who could ever complete him, would be the one to destroy him. 

"You have taken your time," he whispers to the night. 

  
  


-0-

  
  


Lily and James Potter have been hiding from him for some time, but he hadn't noticed. From the child's birth, he supposes. But it is not as if he can ́t _find_ them. 

He can't keep himself away, so he doesn't.

Soulmarks are a strange thing, he muses as he looks at the baby. They appear at childbirth, and stay on the body until death. But not his, not Lord Voldemort's. His had made him wait, until this baby had judged the world good enough to be born in it.

He wonders. How had it happened? Had it appeared when the child was still in the womb? Right as the light first hit him? He had once desired a bond yet, now that he didn't, fate gifted him with a soulmate with the power to be his downfall.

The child is sleeping, eyes closed and spit running down his chin. The Dark Lord frowns, repulsed. _This_ was his soulmate. This small, sweet smelling sack of flesh. How easy would it be, to just push the cradle a bit and have the child fall. It's such an ugly little thing, so defenseless, so delicate. Lord Voldemort almost feels sorry for it.

The baby moves in his sleep and he has to admit that at least it is a very silent child. A small mercy. Lord Voldemort hears quick footsteps coming from the stairs and, sure enough, the mudblood woman appears in the living room, arms filled with clothing.

She looks so young, he muses before turning his attention back to the sleeping child. Lily Potter ignores his ghostly form, merely a projection of his real body, as she goes on with the laundry. The Dark Lord is invisible to her eyes, and she is to him. He has no interest in the mudblood, cares little for _where_ the child came from. He studies him again, and as he does the boy lets a pleased sound pass his lips. 

It's distasteful, really, thinking this weakling his equal in any way. And even thinking of desire makes Lord Voldemort feel revolted. Of course, not all soulmate marks are inherently _romantic_ , he thinks, as the ghost of pale hair and paler eyes crosses his mind. Once, he had thought his soulmate would be much more than a laughable romance, like what his pathetic mother had fallen for. No, he had once dared to think of a confidant, an extension of himself… 

He chases those thoughts away from his mind. He has no use for them now, when he has reality in front of him. Harry Potter is not a blond boy with a smile too big not to hide any secrets, he is barely a newborn who Lord Voldemort could crash with the heel of his boot. He is also alive.

Suddenly, he feels the urge to see the soulmark for himself. Wormtail had described it vividly, a small lighting bolt shaped mark on the child's shoulder. Lord Voldemort wants to see it for himself, feel it for himself, but his fingers run right through the baby when he tries to touch him.

He had read a lot about soulmarks in the last weeks. In the same book where he had found the very projection spell he was using now, he had studied some of greatest soulmate cases.

Soulmarks could bond anyone. Lovers, brothers in either arms or blood, master and most loyal subjects… or mortal enemies. The completion of a whole. Greatness and downfall.

"Harry," he whispers to the sleeping child, tasting the name on his tongue. "What will you be?" 

The baby –Harry, a little voice in his mind insists– sighs content in his sleep as the projection of the Dark Lord fades into the shadows. 

-0-

Lord Voldemort continues to visit the child as a ghost, spies on his parents whenever they are in the same room. They have the house under a fidelius charm, he learns. Dumbledore must see something in Harry to grant him so much protection over the other child. Sometimes, the Potters invite some of their friends home. The Dark Lord even sees Wormtail a couple of times. He should pressure the rat, make him work harder to become the secret keeper of the house, and yet… 

He is unsure about what to do with the child. _Harry_.

Lord Voldemort hates the child. The prophecy, his downfall, everything was because of this one boy. Every sign is pointing at the Dark Lord to kill this infant before he can grow, and his power with him. _Neither can live while the other survives._

And yet, he is… curious. He stays up late at night, and he wonders. 

The baby´s eyes are a light blue tone against his tanned skin. They seem to have a verdant-ish look, hinting that the child might inherit his mother´s vibrant green. He has been opening them more and more often each day, looking around and crying. Sometimes, when he is fed and bathed and content, Harry looks around with his big eyes and gurgles some sounds, delighting his ever doting parents. Voldemort had watched them, a family of three children. James Potter is barely 21 years old, and acted even younger. Lily Evans is but a girl, trying to take care of herself. Usually, they spent the day laughing and making themselves busy, as if trying to forget they are trapped inside the house. 

Today is not one of those days.

"What do you need?" Lily Potter begs her son. The child has been howling for almost an hour now, and even the Dark Lord is getting impatient. "Please, Harry, love, what do you _want_?"

They are on the boy's room. Lord Voldemort tries to push aside the childish decorations that hang from the ceiling and land right in front of his face. His fingers go right through them, and he doesn't hide an annoyed snarl. It's not like the panicking mother can see him. The Dark Lord is sitting down in a big nursery armchair, watching the chaos unfold. It amuses him, he won't deny it. It's a nice feeling, not being the only one troubled by the little beast of a child.

James Potter enters the room, the bags under his eyes dark and deep. 

"Just got back a patronus from Molly. She says that we might try feeding–" 

"We already tried that!" the Mudblood cries, rocking the baby. She is probably less gentle than she should be, but Voldemort can't blame her. The child is most disturbing when he is like this, a squishy ball of cries and tears. Harry is screaming in her ear, and she finally lets him back down in his cradle, giving up. "Okay, we… we can try again, I–"

"Well Lils, she says little babies just cry a lot the first months… maybe he is tired."

"But he is not sleeping," the woman says, clearly distressed and worried.

Lord Voldemort stands up, finally tired of the young couple's antics. He approaches the cradle with a grimace, the baby sounding like a banshee. He carefully takes out his wand. With a flick of his wrist, the Dark Lord conjures colorful bubbles that land and break over the boy's skin. The child can't see the bubbles, but he can feel them, for he slowly starts to calm down, surprised. Lord Voldemort lets a smug smile take over his face, his almost instant succeed feeding his ego. And then, the child turns.

The Dark Lord should be invisible, after all he is not really in the room. But the child turns and, for a moment, their eyes meet. 

The room goes silent around the both of them, the world itself seems to still. It only lasts a second. Then, James Potter's voice thunders in the Dark Lord's ears.

"Lily! Lily, Harry is smiling!"

"Wha– Oh, oh look at him, James! His very first smile!"

Lord Voldemort feels glued to the floor, the child still giggling at him as if he _sees._

-0-

He starts performing tests. He conjures lights with his wand and watches the little beast follow the colors with his eyes, mesmerized. The child can see him. He tries talking to him a few times, just saying Harry's name to catch his attention. The child cannot hear. The Dark Lord discovers he can carve a rune on Harry's door with his wand that, although too weak to serve its true purpose of muting a room, does muffle Harry's bubbling sounds from anyone listening from the outside. As long as Voldemort is near to activate it, at least.

He projects into Harry's room almost every night now, but sometimes, like today, he arrives when the sun is still high in the sky. They are alone, the child's parents downstairs, confident that their boy is asleep. 

Harry's cooes, a long round of noise leaving his lips when he sees Lord Voldemort looking over his cradle. He is resting on his back, still a bit sleepy from his nap. 

"Chatty, aren't we?" the Dark Lord says, looking down at the child. He is wearing a blue pajamas with little snitches moving around the fabric, and Voldemort nearly rolls his eyes. 

He turns around, studying the room, trying to find some clear wooden surface where he can test another rune. Lord Voldemort approaches a small toddler table, trying to decide if his spying rune would be too exposed there, when Harry starts making sounds again.

Voldemort ignores him, but the sounds start turning louder the longer they get ignored. Finally, he turns. Harry is resting on his elbows, his head popped up and looking at him. 

"What?" the Dark Lord asks, even though he knows the child can't hear. Harry just looks at him, gurgling. When Lord Voldemort tries to turn around to continue with his exploration, the sounds intensifies again. Voldemort is not sure how powerful the silence rune is, would it be enough to mute Harry's cries? He can't carve a rune with Harry ́s parents running around the room, trying to calm down the little beast. The Dark Lord growls, but goes back to the child's side.

" _What do you want?"_ The parseltongue comes naturally. Harry just stares up at him, his eyes almost too big for his tiny face. The baby moves his mouth again, making meaningless sounds. "Why aren't you scared? Are you blind, child?"

Lord Voldemort bares his teeth at the child, his smooth, reptilian features distorting around his mouth. The baby stops trying to talk, but keeps looking at him. Harry's head moves a bit, perhaps a bit too heavy for him yet. They stare at each other in silence for a while, Harry ́s big, vibrant green eyes focused on him, until the Dark Lord relaxes his face.

Harry starts making noises again, and the Dark Lord sights. He takes out his wand and creates a small rain of sparkles. The child squeals in delight.

-0-

The Potter's Christmas decorations can only be described as excessive. Affronting, even. A completely unnecessary display. There are decorations everywhere, and Harry's room seems to be the place where all sense of tastefulness his parents possessed came to die. 

They were reindeers everywhere. Fake, magical snow periodically falling into the room. Harry had a hippogriff toy that would make noises and sing simple charols depending where the child touched it. Harry himself was dressed all in red, with a small knitted hat with antlers on it. The Potters were really going insane in their house arrest.

They also have invited half the Order of the Phoenix for lunch, it seems. Lord Voldemort smiles, wiggling his long fingers over Harry's head. The child reaches up with one hand, smiling, and tries to grab them. His little fists past right through Voldemort's skin, but instead of crying the baby chokes out a giggle and tries again. The Dark Lord, amused, leans on the edge of the cradle and wiggles his fingers again. The child is easily entertained. 

Downstairs, Lord Voldemort's runes are peaking up every detail of the conversation between the order members.

-0-

The child is chewing on his own foot, wetting some new red pajamas that have a moving, roaring lion on them. Lord Voldemort stares. The baby outfits are just getting ridiculous.

The moment Harry sees him, he starts wiggling his legs, excited. Lord Voldemort can't help the small curve of his lips, the child's thrill almost contagious. Through the window, the soft light of spring bathes the room.

"Hello to you too, Harry," he greets, bemused. He doesn't have anything to do in the Potter house today. He has more than enough information on the order, but he also didn't have anything urgent back in his Manor. He had just… decided to visit. Checking in on his soulmate and future nemesis, of course.

He notices a small stack of new toys in the cradle, which can only mean Sirius Black has dropped by. He spends an awful amount of time in the house.

"I see that they are at least acting as if they care about your education," the Dark Lord says, pointing at a book with thick pages.

The baby follows his finger, his neck twisting as he starts mumbling. Harry turns his body to the side, grabbing the book with both hands before pulling it close to him. Lord Voldemort bends over the cradle to look at him.

"Oh, you read now?" he asks. "A Ravenclaw at heart?"

Harry can't hear him, but he sees Voldemort's lips moving and answers with a chain of sounds that make absolutely no sense. He grabs the colourful book, opens it and starts chewing on the thick cardboard pages. 

"No, I didn't think so." Voldemort laughs. Harry seems to like it, because he laughs back in response. 

-0-

It's surprising how many Order secrets Lily and James Potter would loudly discuss in their bed. Dumbledore shared so many things with those children.

The Dark Lord hears a sound, and his eyes find Harry staring up at him.

"It's late, child," he says. Harry is still looking at him, not saying anything. And then, Lord Voldemort finds out that Harry Potter has turned out to be a bit of a troublemaker. 

He had learned to crawl fast, and soon his room could be confused with a battlefield. There are toys everywhere, as Lord Voldemort stands over Harry's cradle. Then the baby looks at him and, struggling, takes one of his legs over the cradle bars. Right in front of the Dark Lord's eyes, the child escapes his little prison, falling into his bump.

The Dark Lord stares. Harry must have used some accidental magic, he looks too young to have done what he just did. He is too… small.

Harry pays him no mind and crawls to the middle of his room. There is a toy-snitch waiting for him, and the child lets out a happy sound when the snitch starts to fly around him. Voldemort gives the child a last disbelieving glance before the goes back to the spying rune. James Potter brings news about an Order mission, whining about how they can't participate. His wife sounds like she would like to attend, too. Dumbledore is planning to storm into one of his Death Eater meetings next month. Cute.

Harry, behind him, starts grunting. The Dark Lord looks at him, the child is trying to catch the snitch, but it has gone too far. Harry is pouting, opening and closing his hands over his head, where the snitch flies. Lord Voldemort pays him no mind.

He doesn't plan on acting against the Order of the Phoenix, not yet. The Dark Lord knows how to pick his battles. He wouldn't want to alert the Order that someone has access to internal information, now would he? He can let this slide.

He hears a strange sound, something close to wood cracking, and when he turns around again he is greeted with the sight of a happy Harry. He has the toy snitch between his fingers, and the wooden wardrobe that usually stands on the corner of the room is tipping down, the child right under it.

Everything happens so fast. The child must have summoned the snitch, Voldemort's mind provides. His magic had been more of a general pull towards himself, like a gravitational pull, and the wardrobe had been caught by it. Harry looks up at noise and his eyes grow big and frightened.

Maybe it's because his magic was already out, activating the rune, but before he can even think twice about it he throws his magic to the child and drags him through the floor as the wardrobe falls down, crushing the toys Harry had been sitting on just a second later. Harry feet are barely an inch away from the top of the fallen wardrobe when he starts to cry, hysterical and afraid.

Lord Voldemort feels his pulse loud in his ears as James Potter enters the room in a rush, taking in the sight of his son and the wardrobe. Behind him, Lily Potter looks at her child, white like a ghost. The Dark Lord pants, his breath a bit shaky. As the Potter's run to comfort their child, screaming at each other about setting up wards for accidental magic, his projection dissolves.

Much later, laying in bed, he will realize he could have let the wardrobe fall on the child. He wouldn't have to worry about his soulmate growing up and vanquishing him anymore, no need to plan the child's death. Everything could have been over. 

Lord Voldemort turns in bed, shaking the memory of the wardrobe looming over the child from his mind. He had just reacted, without thinking.

-0-

Most of the time, when his parents are around, Harry seems contentenough with their attention and does not require his. Some other days, he acts like a little spoiled brat.

"Harry, not going out of the play mat, remember?" James Potter picks Harry up from the floor, where the little devil was crawling towards the end of the living room, where Voldemort stood.

"No!" Harry almost screams. And oh, how delightfully amusing, how easily the child has gotten used to that word. 

"Yes, Harry." James smiles, sitting him down back in the mat. "Look at all these things, don't you want to play with the lion? Daddy wants to play with the lion"

"No!" Harry says again, trying to crawl away. He looks at where Voldemort stands. The child moves his hands in circles, saying something unintelligible, but the Dark Lord understands. Harry wants him to tell a story. It's something Lord Voldemort had recently started doing, conjure colorful smoke figures to tell simple stories. He had picked up that habit when he was still a child in the orphanage. Whenever Tom Riddle was scared at night, he would perform plays for himself. Then he learned how to properly read, and found that stolen books brought him lesser punishment when discovered.

"What is going on?" Lily asks, walking down the stairs. She is smiling brightly at James.

"Your son doesn't want to play by the rules!" James laughs, picking Harry up again. "He has this perfectly good mat but I think he wants to go play with the cat."

At the mention of the animal Harry's eyes brighten, and Lord Voldemort is momentarily forgotten.

-0-

Harry can spend hours just holding into furniture and falling flat on his bum when his small legs can't support him anymore. He seems entertained enough, so Lord Voldemort makes a habit to grab whatever paperwork he is doing and review them while he allows Harry to play. Today, the letter between his hands is particularly upsetting.

Fernir Greyback was causing trouble again. The beast had been lashing out at his Death Eaters lately, angry about the short and tight leash the Dark Lord keeps him in. He needs to give him something to do, before the werewolf goes back to his less virtuous... leisure activities. Pity, that one’s ally has a taste for killing wizards. Lord Voldemort still remembers his very first meeting with the werewolf, where Greyback had smiled with yellow, pointy teeth and stated how he was raising an army of his own. 

_We will join you, we want to destroy the Ministry too._ Grayback had said. Voldermot had been able to read the _destroy the wizards, all wizards,_ through his eyes. The thought had resonated in the head of every single werewolf of Greyback’s pack, most of them turned as children and raised as monsters. It is distasteful, the pride in Greyback’s eyes when he speaks about children being his speciality. How mediocre must one be for considering poisoning sleeping toddlers an art form? 

But Greyback is a great asset for installing fear on his enemies, and Lord Voldemort never lets opportunity pass him by. Still, lately he has been having significantly less patience with the werewolf leader. Everything about the beast seems to irritate him greatly. His eyes, distracted, fall on Harry´s form.

_Bite them young, teach the parents a lesson._ Greyback often said. Lord Voldemort´s lipless mouth presses into a thin line. Harry falls down yet again, and seems just as surprised as the first time it happened.

Lord Voldemort sighs. Building up an empire was not easy, it took time. It really didn't matter where that time was spent, though.

-0-

Harry learns his new favorite words when summer hits and he is about to turn one. They are "mama" and "papa" and he screams them for everything. When he wants the Dark Lord, he just cries or shakes his fists. Harry has no word for him, after all. 

His new favorite hand gesture is waving. He always looks so proud, shaking his little hands whenever Voldemort appears. Like right now. 

Harry is in the middle of the hallway, sitting on the floor and chewing on a big snitch toy. Lily passes by and waves back, thinking she is the one been greeted.

"Hi-hi Harry." Lily smiles down at the baby, he voice high pitched and loving. "Hello, yes, hello. Mummy says hello, too." 

Harry smiles up at her, cooing, and then his eyes go back to Voldemort. He waves again, and Lord Voldemort waves back with a sigh. It's barely a wiggle in his fingers, but Harry seems happy to be greeted back, because he chuckles. Then, he goes on a full babbling monologue. The Dark Lord smiles. What a chatty child. 

Harry waves hello again, and Lord Voldemort concedes, waving back again, too. The child claps his hands, barely actually hitting his palms together, and Lily laughs, none the wiser.

-0-

Lord Voldemort misses Harry's first steps, but the Potters have been vehemently trying to help their child walk at all hours of the day, so it was meant to happen. 

When he appears in the house he finds himself in the living room, and the whole family is there. Harry is standing up, holding onto James Potter's hands. Lily Potter is crouching a few feet away, her arms extended and calling to her child.

"Come here Harry, come to mummy." Harry stamps his little feet on the ground, and then launches himself towards her. He stumbles all the way, and nearly falls when he reaches her mother, but he walks.

Sirius Black howls.

"Oh Merlin! He did it!" He throws himself into James' arms. "Did you see that, Prongs? Little Prongslet walks, the absolute madman!" 

Lily and James laugh, and Harry looks at them not knowing what is going on. He turns in his mother's embrace, and an idea starts to form in Lord Voldemort's mind. An awful idea, really. There is nothing subtle about it.

But the Dark Lord crouches and, carefully, extends one arm. When Harry's eyes find him, he gestures the child to approach him. Harry only stares for a second, and then, he does.

The baby doesn't get to him, his steps still unsure and the distance a bit too great, but Harry falls on his bum just as his little fingers grace Voldemort's. The Dark Lord thinks that, if he had a corporeal body, he would have been able to catch him before the fall.

"Oi, baby's quite the explorer! A total Marauder, Lils," Black teases, and Lily Potter smacks him playfully. 

Yes, Lord Voldemort thinks, running his fingers through the baby's hands to make him laugh. Quite the explorer, indeed.

-0-

Eventually, Harry graduates from messing up the house crawling behind the cat, to messing it up trying to run behind the cat. And, most recently, using a tiny model of a flying broom. His running is stumbling at most, but he is getting faster by the day. 

He destroys furniture, decorations, and his parents' sanity. Lord Voldemort is extremely proud. 

But there are other problems with a grown child.

"Up, up!" Harry demands, his arms extended towards the Dark Lord. He doesn't seem to understand that Voldemort can't pick him up, no matter how annoying the child gets. "Up!"

Lord Voldemort frowns at him. Children were stupid. He conjures some sparkles to try and distract Harry, but there is no use.

"Up now?" Harry repeats, sitting on the floor. He looks confused, as if can't understand why the Dark Lord won't pick him up like every other adult does when he asks for it.

"No up, Harry," Lord Voldemort says, somewhat annoyed for some reason. "Don't you want a story?"

It's clear Harry doesn't want a story when his eyes start to water. He begins to pout, and Voldemort can feel the storm coming. Merlin gracious.

"Up," Harry cries, reaching up for him. "Up, up!" 

The Dark Lord feels something tight on his chest, his annoyance sparkling. He curses the child, his antics and immature behavior. Lord Voldemort _can't_ pick him up, it is not _his_ fault. He would want to–

That is when it first hits him. He wants to pick him up. Voldemort stares at the child, surprised. He is annoyed because he can't pick Harry up, not because the baby wants him to. Actually, the thought of Harry wanting to be held by him makes him feel oddly smug.

But Lord Voldemort is going to kill the child, he shouldn't get attached. He had made up his mind a long time ago, it is too risky to let the child live, soulmark or not.

He won't let his empire fall to pieces because of a _child_.

  
  


-0-

He stays away. Goes back to his plans, his meetings, takes personal charge of things he doesn't need to and even supervises Death Eater´s training, but the little beast is still on his mind. 

_Harry_.

He wonders what he is doing. If the mudblood is being her usual incompetent self and if Potter has finally learned how to handle Harry's cries. 

The Dark Lord avoided coming into his rooms too early in the evening, for that was when he used to schedule his visits to the Potter residence. He paces around halls, angry and irritated and itching for something he can't explain. His mind still asks about the child right before falling asleep.

He doesn't go back. 

-0-

Severus Snape is looking at Peter Pettigrew as if he might strangle him, but Voldemort pays him no mind. The news is too enticing. The Potters have change their secret keeper. Finally, this is their chance.

There are two options now, Lord Voldemort knows. He finally has to choose. 

His inner circle looks at him, eyes bright and cruel, excited smiles on their lips. They are waiting for orders. So the Dark Lord breathes in, and gives them.

Kill the spare, but not the child.

When morning comes, Neville Longbottom is an orphan, miraculously saved from the massacre at his home. The papers soon announce a descent in Death Eater activity, the Dark Lord himself suddenly nowhere to be seen. Albus Dumbledore himself appears in every news paper trying to explain why the Longbottoms' weren't protected from the Dark Lord. Severus Snape walks into their meetings half surprised half pleased each time, grateful to his Lord for keeping his promises. 

Two months later, the Potters drop their Fidelius, although not all guards, from their home. As selfish as they feel, they can't help but be relieved. They are safe, Harry is safe. Everything is going to be alright.

And, finally, Lord Voldemort goes back to visit Harry.

There is snow outside. It falls quietly, giving the gardens a rather charming look. Lord Voldemort finishes a letter, signing with a small flourish.

He seals the letter with green wax. The owl beside his table hoots, grooming itself. The Dark Lord extends his hand and pets it, distracted. Tonight might be a special night. 

He sends the owl out. It has a long journey ahead of itself, to the south. Voldemort might be keeping a low profile in Britain, but he can't let his movement die. He is unsure about what to do with Harry, but at least now it should be easier to be around the child. With Dumbledore busy with the Longbottom kid, the wards around Harry Potter's house were weaker, the waste of magic unjustified. 

Oh, there was no way Dumbledore would buy that he was gone, abandoning Britain, but the scandal of the Longbottom murder would keep him distracted. Long enough so Voldemort could plan a way to get pass his perceiving eyes.

The Dark Lord sighs, resting back against his chair. He opens one of the drawers of his big study desk and takes out a folder. He opens it, taking one last look at his artimacy notes. He has spent many nights going over them, the rune should work. With one last breath, Lord Voldemort closes his eyes and casts the projection spelling.

He appears by Harry's side, as he usually does. Tonight, the child is lies down in his new little bed, since James and Lily had decided to change his cradle after the last time Harry had escaped his little prison to play around at night. Voldemort was pleased. Seeing the child climbing the bars and falling to the floor hadn't been a pleasant experience, knowing that he wouldn't be able to catch him if needed.

Harry is sleeping, his little body curled on himself. Lord Voldemort looms over him, and takes out his wand. 

He draws a rune on the air, a golden smoke coming from his wand. He flicks his wrist and the rune falls apart, the smoke gently falling on the child's body as the snow outside his window. Lord Voldemort feels a pinch on the flat of his tongue, as a twin rune appears there. Then, he speaks.

"Harry."

The child moves, his sleep disturbed by the magic. Hopefully, Voldemort's voice will be resonating in his mind. Harry opens his eyes with an angry sound. He has never enjoyed being woken up.

"Harry," Voldemort says again. Harry looks up at him, confused and sleepy, and then sees him. He doesn't look very excited to see him.

"I know you are tired, little one," the Dark Lord tells him, his fingers running through the child's hair. "But I had to test the rune."

Harry is looking more awake now, and stares at Voldemort with a frown. Then, he starts to pout. Harry associated the Dark Lord with a soundless figure, and waking up in the middle of the night by a stranger's voice is frightening him.

" _Now_ you are scared." Voldemort laughs quietly, and Harry is starting to tear up a bit, still sleepy. He will be crying soon. "Don't worry, Harry. We will get you used to my voice."

Harry looks at him confused, afraid of the sound in his head but comforted by Lord Voldemort's presence, and it's all too much for his little brain. He cries, loud and upset.

But Voldemort is not angry, not at all. His rune works.

"Merry Christmas, Harry."


	3. The Sun

**Chapter 2**

****

**The Wild Unknown deck**

-

Sometimes it's easy to forget that Harry is still a child. He turns two years old quickly, winter melting into spring and then summer in a rush. But the child makes sure to remind everyone he is as much of a kid as anyone around him. 

"Pretty," Harry says, showing a bright orange mass to Voldemort. "Pretty, pretty."

He has been working all day with play dough, trying to make something still unidentified. The dough was a gift from Black, who had gotten Harry a pack of different colored ones, and the child seems mesmerised by it.

"It is very pretty, Harry," Lord Voldemort concedes. Harry grins up at him, and then goes back to look at his little orange mess.

"Thank you," he says, shaking the clay in his hands up and down. He looks as if he has already forgotten the Dark Lord is in front of him, so concentrated he is in this new, interesting thing.

"You are very welcomed," Voldemort says as the child walks away from him. 

Lily Potter enters the room with a stack of plates and starts setting the table. In the kitchen, James Potter sings disturbingly out of tune as he cooks.

"Who are you talking to, Harry, honey?" Harry looks up at her smiling, squeezing the dough.

"Pretty," he repeats, showing her the clay. He does a little dance in front of her, and stomps his feet when she doesn't answer right away. Lily crouches down. 

"It's beautiful," she laughs before running her fingers over Harry's face and hair, playful and sweet. "But not as much as you, huh? My handsome, handsome boy." 

Harry chuckles in delight as his mother snuggles him and starts to kiss his face.

"Mum!" he protests, laughing and half-heartedly trying to get away. He tries to escape her nuzzels with a high pitched squeal, but Lily hugs him close to her chest. She ruffles Harry's hair and kisses the top of his head. 

"I can hug you all I want." Lily sticks her tongue out at Harry. "You are my son, and if I want to kiss you I will!"

Harry is delighted, the orange clay apparently forgotten for a while. They paint a picture-perfect family, the Dark Lord suddenly thinks. Like the ones he used to see in the newspaper when he lived in London. Like the ones Tom Riddle had envied, back then. It's a one-second thought, but it throws him off, enough so he looks away from the scene.

"What about your poor husband," James' voice interrupts them from the kitchen. "No kisses for him?"

Harry hug's his mother's leg, demanding to be held, and she picks him up. As they enter the kitchen, the couple already bickering in that way they seem to like, Lord Voldemort watches them leave. Harry has his little arms around Lily's neck, looking content and happy.

Lord Voldemort frowns, and leaves.

-00-

"Say ‘bye’ to Mummy, Harry." James is standing at the door frame, Harry in his arms. "Tell her to brings us all nice things, yes? No more green peas, right?"

"No peas!" Harry exclaims, and Lily laughs.

"Stop teaching him those things, James. Grocery shopping is hard enough already." She puts on a hat over her red locks and waves goodbye at Harry.

"Mummy bye-bye," the child says, distracted.

Lord Voldemort watches her leave, her small frame disappearing behind the fog of the house wards. Dumbledore has yet to drop most wards around the Potters and, although now they take turns to leave the house, Harry is still not allowed out. Dumbledore is keeping a very close eye on them, and Lord Voldemort can't really put his finger on what makes Dumbledore _this_ paranoid. It's as if he knows Harry was the real chosen one, the real choice. Voldemort makes a mental note to schedule an attack on the Longbottom's Manor. Make sure he points Dumbledore's keen eyes back to the other child. Right now, he has other things to worry about.

Fall is creeping in, and James is standing outside barely dressed. With _Harry_ in a similar state. The Dark Lord sneers. If Harry ends up sick James will be sorry. 

-00-

Black is visiting again. He stumbles into the house in a too-big coat, carrying a too-big bag, and he lifts Harry high over his head when he sees him. He always brings presents for Harry, as if he could just buy the child's affections with toys. It works terrifically well, sadly. Harry adores his uncle Padfoot, even if he rarely sees him.

He is asking to be held again, and Black seems like he will quickly indulge him, but then Harry sees Lord Voldemort. 

"Hi!" he waves, excited. Sirius follows his gaze and finds nothing.

"Who are we saying ‘hi’ to, Prongslet?" he asks with that irritating voice he puts on when talking to Harry. The child is not stupid, the Dark Lord knows this. There is no need to speak to him as if he can't understand. Harry will never learn proper wording if the people around him don't even try to enunciate correctly.

Lily's head pipes up from the couch. She takes a quick look at her son and smiles. 

"Harry has an imaginary friend. He sits in the corner," she explains, amused. "James thinks he got bored of his parents."

"Well, then please, let me join you two!" Sirius takes Harry in his arms and walks towards the corner where the Dark Lord is sitting. "What should we do, Harry? Wanna play aurors against criminals?"

The Dark Lord nearly recoils as Black approaches him. 

"You are such a child." Lily shakes her head, going back to her tea.

  
  


-00-

Sometimes, Albus Dumbledore drops by. He looks at Harry, mesmerized and confused, and each day Lord Voldemort holds his breath. He has carefully modified the projection and communication spells to intertwine then with their soulmark, but maybe Dumbledore would be able to sense the Dark Lord's magic under all that. He knows it very well, after all.

The old man never seems to notice anything strange around the child, and the Dark Lord has to wonder just how much power there is behind soulmarks, that not even Dumbledore can see through them.

… He is not sure what he would do if Dumbledore ever finds out.

-00-

Harry enjoys spiking his hair up during bath time, when it's full of soap and easy to play with. Lord Voldemort is not sure who has more fun whenever he does it, if the child or his parents. James and Lily Potter find their son hilarious in every way.

Harry squeals, happy with every laugh he tears from his parents. Then he looks at Voldemort, expectantly.

The child does look rather amusing with a soapy mohawk, he has to admit. He smiles at Harry and the child claps, sending water all over his parents. That makes the Dark Lord smile more.

-00-

Harry gets a new, big stuffed animal for Christmas. It is an elephant and, much to James's disappointment, since Harry got it he has become obsessed with elephants. His pajamas need elephants on them, and his morning cereal have to be elephant-shaped. He lives glued to the toy. He drags it all around the house, so big he can barely pick it up and walk at the same time.

He drags the we elephant all the way across the floor the moment he sees the Dark Lord appear in the middle of his room.

"Bibi," Harry says, pointing at his toy. "Bibi." 

Voldemort takes a look at the toy. Harry is always entertaining.

"Hello, Bibi. And hello, Harry." He smiles, but Harry is not smiling at him. The child points at himself. 

"Harry," he says. Then, he points back at the toy. "Bibi." He looks up, and continues. "Mummy, Daddy, Siri."

Then, Harry points at him, waiting. And Voldemort understands. 

He looks at the child, and he doesn't know what to say. Harry is too young to keep a secret. He can't have the child call him _Lord Voldemort_ , Harry is chatty and will babble his name out to his parents at some point without even realizing it. But what else can he say? His Muggle name? He refused it decades ago, and he wouldn't want to give Dumbledore any reason to suspect, either. But them, what?

The realization freezes the blood in his veins. He thinks about Lily and James Potter, the twist some of their interactions with Harry bring to Voldemort’s insides. He knows what he wants Harry to call him, and suddenly the air in the room seems too thick. 

Not killing the child is one thing, but _this_ is too much. He is too attached. There are lines and limits one should not cross. But then Harry is asking him again.

"Harry," the child says pointing at himself, and then points back at him.

The Dark Lord wishes he could move, but whatever poison Harry has been feeding him these past months takes a hold of him. And maybe… why not? Maybe Fate had not given Lord Voldemort a Nemesis or a downfall. Not a lover, not a protegee, or a devoted follower. Maybe… just maybe… 

Harry keeps looking at him, his black hair a messy bird's nest and big green eyes shining. There is a weird feeling in the Dark Lord's chest, as if he is about to puke. It's something he has felt before lately, whenever the mudblood and the blood traitor hold Harry in their arms, when they claim him as theirs. It's anger and possessiveness. Envy. It's some other type of feeling too, warm and pleasant, when Harry looks up at him in adoration.

Fate has taken many things from Lord Voldemort, but it has also gifted him much. Most of the time, the gifts are never straightforward. So maybe this time, fate has gifted him with... a son. The Dark Lord has never wanted one before, and surely would never father any himself, so it was possible that his soulmate was gifted as one. He had always enjoyed teaching the capable, after all. And Harry… 

" _Father."_ The word escapes his lips in parseltongue, because he can't bring himself to have the boy understand him. " _You may call me father, Harry."_

He wants the child to look at him and call him father, but that would be unwise. The Potters might not take it lightly. And although he might entertain the idea of being a father, it is something he needs to think about yet. There are a lot of implications in that statement, it _means_ a lot of things. So far, every father Lord Voldemort had met was disappointing in some way. Maybe that’s the whole point of this, though. The Dark Lord excels in everything he puts his mind into, so maybe this is a chance, a challenge. Harry tilts his head, hugging his plush elephant.

" _Father?"_ he answers, parseltongue spilling from his mouth with such ease it takes the Dark Lord a moment to realize the child was not speaking English. The room grows silent.

"Well, fuck," is all Lord Voldemort can say to _that_.

-00-

  
  


"Oh, don't worry dear. I'm sure Dumbledore will approve. You two need some action," Molly Weasley says, sitting on one of the couches in Godric's Hollow. "You have been in house arrest for how long? Past two years? I would think that's enough."

This is the first time Lord Voldemort has seen Arthur and Molly Weasley. They are not directly involved with the Order of the Phoenix, so the Dark Lord did not care much for them before. Now that they are standing in the Potter's living room, he is slightly more intrigued.

They are older than the Potters, and apparently set in having as many children as humanly possible as soon as they could. Thankfully, they had left them all at home for this particular event.

"It's been over a year since the Longbottom's… Well," points out Arthur Weasley. He sips his tea and hums appreciatively. "Harry needs to interact with other children, it will do him good having someone to play with. Maybe you could come visit next week?"

Molly seems excited, and James and Lily Potter smile politely at them. For what Lord Voldemort can tell, they were not exactly friends of the Weasleys before they went into hiding. It looks like both couples only have one thing in common: children. The Dark Lord supposes that is enough, sometimes. It's not like the Potters had many friends left, after all. Wormtail was occupied being a spy for the Dark Lord, and Black was trying to find a way to connect Bella to the dark side so he could cast her and her husband out of their Wizegamot seats. That last idea that must have come from Dumbledore, for sure. After suffering him for so long, Lord Voldemort knows the dog does not have the brains or the will to think of _that_ kind of retribution.

Their werewolf friend was busy acting as a traitor, joining Greyback's pack. That had been interesting news. And, of course, who could forget mudblood crying for days after she found out some friend of hers had been killed by his Death Eaters. The werewolf thing had really been exciting news. Greyback was sure Remus Lupin wasn't really on their side, but Lord Voldemort had ordered him to keep the werewolf in the pack. He could prove to be useful yet.

But, yes, the Potters surely needed more friends. And the Weasleys, not directly connected to the Order but loyal to Dumbledore, and with a house filled with kids, seem like an obvious choice.

Harry is sitting in the rug, right between the two couples, feeling none of the tentative friendship energy in the room. He had found the Weasleys new and interesting for a while, but not anymore. When he sees the Dark Lord, he waves.

"Father!" Harry shouts, waving a drawing he has been working on. It's just different colored lines, nothing more. "Father, look!"

Molly smiles down at the kid, but looks confused as the child doesn't seem to be talking to his dad. Lily gives an apologetic smile.

"He has an imaginary friend." She gives Harry a quick look. "That's what he calls him."

Molly smile is a little troubled, but Arthur laughs.

"Oh, he needs some more kids around alright!" he says. James smiles back, relaxed. The Potter's had been a little apprehensive about how Harry's friend might come up to others, although they themselves hadn't been too bothered by it.

"Yes, Harry has never even seen another kid," James says, taking Lily's hands between his. "I guess we didn't realize that Harry had never seen anyone that wasn't a parental figure until he started calling his friend 'father' too. It was a wake up call for sure."

James cracks a laugh and the Weasleys smile, and both couples stop paying attention to the child. Lord Voldemort crouches down and extends his arms. Harry walks towards him with a smile on his face 

"I'm sure Dumbledore will call you back into the Order before Harry's birthday," Molly tries to encourage the parents. "He came for tea last week. They might have found Voldemort's hide-out in Sweden."

It really is a wonder, just how much Albus Dumbledore shares with people that are not in his little organization. It's as if the man is begging for someone to go and run their mouth. Anyway, his house in Sweden had been compromised for a couple of months now. Giving it up will not be that harsh. He might even be feeling a bit naughty, Voldemort thinks as Harry asks him what colors to use in his drawing. Maybe he would even set up a little trap for his old professor if he dares to show up to Sweden. If his eyes get a little cruel around the edges, well, it's not like anyone else can see it.

"I hope you are right, Molly," says James. "I can't wait to return to action. Sirius and I have been thinking about joining the auror force."

Lord Voldemort smiles. He conjures a book for Harry and sits down to read to him.

Yes, he can't wait for that day come either.

-00-

Black and Wormtail are having dinner with the Potters, celebrating something. The Dark Lord couldn't really care less. Wormtail has been conflicted, lately. He is happy that Lily and James seem to be out of trouble, and it really looks like he is not that bothered by spying for the Dark Lord when his master is mostly acting outside of the United Kingdom. As long as he is useful, Lord Voldemort doesn't really care about whatever inner monologues Wormtail tells himself to sleep at night.

Harry is entertained with some coloring books, but he doesn't seem too worried about coloring inside the lines of the picture. His pink train is looking a bit messy, in the Dark Lord's opinion. Harry seems unaware of the down right fight that is going on at the table right now.

Wormatil is somewhere between a laugh and wetting his robes in fear, and James Potter is staring as his wife as if she is an angel. Black and Lily are screaming at each other.

"I would NEVER, Lily, you know that," Sirius says, looking to his friends for support and finding nothing. The tea is getting cold on the table.

"Well _someone_ has taught that word to my son, Sirius Black, and it sure has not been me." Lily stands with both hands on the table, looking like a predator ready to strike.

"Harry," James interrupts, trying to help his friend. "Who did you hear saying that?"

The child, distracted, points to the empty corner where the Dark Lord is standing. Black's chest goes big with pride.

"See? It wasn't me!"

"Oh, and where do you think _he_ has picked it from?"

"Lily, I would NEVER say FUCK in front of a CHILD."

"HE IS RIGHT THERE," she roars, and Harry, happy and amused smiles at them in delight.

"Fuck!" he repeats sending the room to chaos.

Lord Voldemort laughs out loud, for Harry's ears only. 

  
  


-00-

Things are going smoothly for the Dark Lord. Europe is but his playground, where his movement grows stronger by the day. The magic folk is terrified of Muggles and what they can do with they ever growing technology. Voldemort's ideas of breaking the Statute of Secrecy, and make wizards stand at the very top of the food chain, are gaining more and more international support.. 

Dumbledore regroups, attacks, and gives conference after conference about peace. It amounts to nothing, in the end. The people are starting to feel a war bigger than themselves approaching. It might start in Britain, but rumor has it the British Dark Lord does not plan on leaving it there. Newspapers everywhere wondered _when_ , not _if,_ the conflict would start.

Lord Voldemort smiles, taking a sip from a cold wine glass. The sunset looks beautiful from the small town of Santa Cesarea Terme. He always had a thing for Italy and it's coast. Maybe he would replace the flat he had blown up in Sweden for a house here. He wonders how Harry would like a little vacation. Of course, he might have to teach the child how to swim first.

The white wine tastes honey-sweet on his tongue.

-00-

  
  


Lord Voldemort is sitting on the Potter's living room couch, pointedly ignoring the scene going on behind him. 

It is lunch time, but Harry is not cooperating. 

"No beans," the child pouts. He pushes the plate away from him and James sighs. 

"C'mon mate, you like these beans. These are Mummy's beans." He moves the spoon in front of Harry's face. "Open up for the broom."

Harry makes a face and presses his lips together tightly. James tries pressing the spoon against his son's lips, but Harry still refuses to open his mouth. Lord Voldemort would raise an eyebrow at his antics if he had any.

"No broom. Beans bad. Want a cookie!" 

"Harry, cookies are dessert, not dinner."

"No beans, cookie!"

Lily squeezes her husband's shoulder and takes the spoon from his fingers. She says something to James and they switch places, Lily now sitting in front of Harry while James sets the table for the two of them.

"Alright, honey. Mummy's here. " She smiles at Harry, but the child doesn't smile back. "Now we have dinner, yes?"

"No mummy. Cookie!" Harry bangs his little fists on his toddler chair. The yellow plastic cup shakes dangerously close to the edge of the table. Lily looks at it, ready to pick it up if necessary.

"Don't be like that Harry, we said no more cookies today. You will get a stomach ache and wake up hungry again tonight." 

The Dark Lord has to give it to them, the Potters seemed to be full of patience. To be fair, they really don't have much else to do, trapped inside the house with a small child save from short breaks for shopping and the occasional meeting they hosted in their home. They had worked that patience over the years. 

They were far from perfect, Lord Voldemort would know, but they were not terrible either. And now that they could practically taste freedom, they were leaving behind their less healthy parenting quirks. The mudblood no longer entered Harry's room at night and wept, fearing of prophecies. The blood traitor had stopped pacing around the house like a caged animal, randomly stopping in his tracks to hug Harry and promise him he was safe. The Dark Lord was very grateful they had stopped doing both. It was quite an embarrassing show to watch.

But this would not be resolved with words.

"Cookie," Harry repeats, louder. Bangs his fists again and repeats nearly screaming. "Cookie!"

"Harry don't be naughty," Lily warns him. She grabs the plate again and tries to feed Harry, but he pushes Lily's hand out of the way. 

"Daddy, cookie!" Harry turns to James and Lily shoots his husband a dark look.

"See, this is what happens if you keep giving him sweets behind my back. James, we are supposed to be a team here. I don't want to be the bad guy."

"Lils I swear, I have no idea what he is talking about." It's an obvious lie, but James has the decency to at least looking sheepish and regretful.

"Daddy!" Harry cries again.

"No Harry, no cookies. Not from Mummy and not from Daddy. You have to eat dinner." Lily points at the plate. 

Harry frowns at her and looks around. He finds Voldemort's figure casually reading over the sofa.

"Father." He extends his arms at the Dark Lord. "Father, cookie!"

Lily lets out a pained sound. Harry looks at him demanding, his little face twisted and angry. Lord Voldemort looks at him for a second before going back to his book. It's a rather good one, exploring the extension of blood magic in ancient celtic rituals. 

"Eat your dinner, Harry," he says, and he can hear Harry pout. The child needs to learn some manners.

"Father," Harry whines, and Lily tries to feed him again. Harry closes his mouth and shakes his head, stress building up in him until the child snaps again.

"No!" he screams at Lily.

"Hey, young man, that's no way to treat your mum!" James stands up, towering over Harry with a frown. "Say you are sorry and finish your dinner."

Harry looks up at James, angry and rebellious. 

"No dinner! Cookie!" And with a swing of his hand Harry sends his plate flying, throwing his dinner all over the floor.

James opens his eyes, looking at the food all over the floor. He looks ready to go get another plate of beans for the kitchen and spend all night up until Harry eats, but Lily touches his hand. She seems exhausted, and James takes one look at her and nods 

"Okay, that's it." Lily takes Harry out of his chair, and rocks him a bit. "We are very tired yes? Let's go take a nap, Harry. And then we will see if you are hungry, okay?"

Harry whines and cries all the way to his room, and when Lily comes back to the living room and joins his husband for dinner, Harry starts calling out for the Dark Lord. Lord Voldemort ignores the child for a bit, but he ends up closing his book and going upstairs, of course.

Harry is sitting on his bed as Voldemort passes through the magical child barriers on the room's door. James and Lily had installed them as soon as Harry started crawling to prevent the child from leaving the room at night and accidentally falling down the stairs. They also work well enough that they will prevent Harry from running downstairs and continue screaming, now.

"Father!" Harry doesn't seem very pleased to see him, only demanding. "Father, cookie!"

Lord Voldemort twists his lips, unimpressed. Harry jumps up and down on his bed, screams again for sweets. It's beneath Harry, to behave like this.

"Harry," Voldemort says, tone cold. "Stop that. This tantrum had been going on long enough."

But Harry is not listening, he keeps whining at him. Lord Voldemort takes out his book with weariness, ready to just sit down and wait until the child tires himself. It's not Harry's first tantrum. But this one proves to be longer than usual. 

The Dark Lord's knuckles are white around the book as he turns a page, grinding his teeth. Harry has moved until he his standing right in front of him.

"Father, Father please! Hungry!"

"If you were hungry, Harry, you would have eaten your dinner." The Dark Lord's voice is harsh but Harry doesn't seem to care. 

The child whines, and raises his voice. The Dark Lord is getting irritated, and Harry keeps pressing until Lord Voldemort finally has had enough.

"Enough!" he snarls, so forceful that Harry actually takes a couple of steps back. "That's enough, Harry. You will stop this childish behavior right now. Or I swear on _Merlin,_ I will leave and won't come back again."

It works like a charm. Harry stops and looks up at him, shocked. Lord Voldemort smiles, pleased with himself.

"See? Much–" He stops. Harry's bottom lip trembles and his eyes fill with heavy tears. His hands close in little fists and his body shakes.

"No!" Harry cries as tears fall from his cheeks. The Dark Lord is so shocked he doesn't move. "No go away! No go away."

The child is sobbing, his little frame starting to shake with his cries. It is a kind of sound Lord Voldemort has never heard before coming from Harry. The child sounds scared, in pain.

"No go away!" As Harry's voice starts to grow more hysterical, Voldemort can hear steps on the stairs. "No more naughty, promise. No go away!"

Lily and James enter the room, and the second they see their son sobbing in the room they run to his side. But Harry is inconsolable, crying into his little hands, begging his father not to go.

"Your friend is not going anywhere, sugar." Lily tries to calm him down petting his head and back. Harry's sobs go louder. Lord Voldemort just stands, there not knowing what to do.

They try everything they can think of, Lily even ends up offering to get Harry a cookie, but Harry refuses the treat. Finally, the child cries himself to sleep.

The Dark Lord waits until Harry's breath grows steady before leaving his side. It is not guilt he feels, he tells himself. Of course not, but...

He… might have to word his thoughts better next time. 

  
  


-00- 

  
  


Harry's birthday arrives almost too soon, and the Potters have the strangest idea. As a present, they bring Harry to the Weasley's home.

"Say hi, Harry." Lily smiles down at him, but Harry hides behind her legs and refuses to look at the long line of redhead children in front of him. The Dark Lord paces around the crowded kitchen with a face. What a filthy place. He can smell the blood traitor filth in all of them.

Harry looks at him, begging Lord Voldemort for help. Voldemort rolls his eyes.

"It will only be a couple of hours, Harry. You will be fine." Harry hides even more behind his mother, shaking his head. He is scared. It's not unreasonable, Voldemort guesses. Harry has never been around more than five people at once, his parents making sure any Order meetings wouldn't disturb their baby's sleep. Now, he has a whole army or redheads in front of him.

James tries to nudge Harry forward, but the child makes a displeased sound and presses his face to Lily's legs. Both parents look up at the Weasleys and smile apologetically.

"Oh, it's alright," cooes Molly Weasley, crouching down beside her children. "Say hi boys, Harry here is a little shy. Try no to overwhelm him." The last part was a little less sweet in tone, and she sends a pointed look at a pair of twins whose faces had turned into identical mischievous grins. 

None of the boys moved, and the small red headed girl that rested on his father's arms was about to fall asleep. Just as it is starting to look like this meeting will be a failure, the youngest boy steps forward.

"Hi," he says, and the Dark Lord is pleased to hear that his voice sounds more childish than Harry's. He is it not sure why he would even think of comparing the two children, but Voldemort is pleased to see that Harry comes on top.

Harry seems surprised to hear another childish voice, and he peeks from behind his mother's robes, curious. The redhead boy tilts his head.

"I play dragons and heroes," the child says. "Wanna play?"

Harry looks at him, brows frowned and bottom lip trembling. The other child seems to assess Harry before raising one of his hands. It's holding a teddy bear. 

"This is Squishy,” the child says, and then he points at himself. "Ron."

The room is expectant, even the Dark Lord is looking almost holding his breath. Slowly, curiosity wins, and Harry moves from behind his mother to study the stuffed toy and the boy.

"Harry," he says. Ron looks at Harry and grins.

They spent all day walking around the house and gardens, talking to each other. Hearing their conversation wass equal parts amusing and bizzare.

"Now I fight the dragon, ok?" Ron would say.

"Ok," Harry would answer, distracted. "And now I make magic and fly, okay?"

"Okay."

They were each playing their own game, but together. Lord Voldemort smiles at Harry as the children pass through the kitchen towards the garden yet again.

Inside, James and Lily were discussing Order affairs. Dumbledore had assigned them some office work to keep them entertained, but everyone was waiting for the main event: their freedom. Lily Potter had applied to San Mungo and James Potter had received and affirmative reply from the auror offices. After three years of hiding, trapped in their own home, they were both dying to experience the world again. 

Finally, Albus Dumbledore had decided Harry was not in danger. Lord Voldemort had shifted his attacks to central Europe, and occasionally tried to find out where the old headmaster had sent that Longbottom child, just to keep up the act. To the world, Lord Voldemort was waiting until he could kill the Boy Who Lived before returning to the country, and had no interest in the Potters.

It had taken the Dark Lord two years to fool Dumbledore, but it looked like he had done it. And the Potters couldn't wait to feel a bit of freedom.

They couldn't leave Harry unattended, of course. They would need someone to take care of Harry, a nanny of sorts. The Dark Lord's face twists into a slow, self-satisfied smirk. He has the perfect candidate.

"Percy dear, what are you doing there?"

Lord Voldemort turns around to find another redhead standing in the middle of the hallway, looking at a big clock. His little head was tilted and the look on his face confused. The Dark Lord's smirk turned into a full grin when he saw what the child was looking at.

It was a magical clock with the faces of all the Weasley family. And right now, all their red, smiling little faces were set on _in danger._

-00-

Harry finds a new amusement in painting using his hands. Lily and James learn soon enough that it is easier to let Harry cook simple meals with them rather than allow him to stick his hands into paint and play around with it.

They don't learn this lesson soon enough to save their living room sofa, though. 

  
  


-00-

Of course, James and Lily both get the positions they applied for. They are excellent magic users, their miraculous escapes from Voldemort would prove as much. And Lord Voldemort made sure they would get them, moving some strings, of course. He was really a giver at heart.

The Potters had eased Harry into her new nanny, inviting her to stay over when they were both around, so the change wouldn't be too sudden for the child. But now, for the first time, Lily and James will be out all day long. 

Lord Voldemort sees them both leave, waving goodbye to Harry every few seconds. Harry waves back, being held in the nanny's arms, an old lady in a purple dress. He looks so sad, his poor son. 

_His son_. The thought warms Voldemort's insides as he looks at Harry. 

Finally the Potters walk down the street. They are holding hands, laughing like children at the fact that they are outside, together. They kiss and, when they Disapparate, the Dark Lord drops his invisibility spell. 

He enters the house to find a young woman, not the old lady from the porch, standing by the door.

"So Dumbledore was right," she says, raising her wand. "You…"

Lord Voldemort stuns her and she falls to the floor like a broken puppet. The Dark Lord studies her. The witch was fast, and her magical ability strong. She had been waiting for him. But the Dark Lord had been waiting for her, too.

So Dumbledore is not completely fooled. Well, that is alright. Makes things more interesting.

He steps over the body of the witch, and finds Harry in the living room, completely unaware of what had just happened. 

"Hi Harry," he greets, and Harry's eyes look up at him. The Dark Lord smiles. "Hello, my son."

Harry stares at him, noticing that something is not quite right with Lord Voldemort's figure, but he quickly smiles back, happy that he doesn't have to spend the day with the unknown witch.

Lord Voldemort extends his arms, crouching. 

"Up?" he teases, grinning as Harry's eyes go big with excitement as he realizes what the Dark Lord is suggesting.

-00-

Dorcas Meadowes is a strong witch, but an Imperio and mind charm by the Dark Lord's hand are stronger.

From Monday to Friday, Lord Voldemort visits Harry. He doesn't stay all day every time, he does have a war to win after all, but he enjoys doing some work while Harry just plays near him when no one else is around. 

Meadowes arrives every day, and the mind-binding spell the Dark Lord has her under kicks in the second he Apparates in the house. It's a useful little parseltongue thing he had found down in the Chamber of Secrets back in the day. The hex is based in ancient Indian hypnosis techniques. It makes Meadowes fall into an Imperio-type bond with the Dark Lord when in his presence.

After, Lord Voldemort only needs to spend five minutes doing his ever-favored memory spell so the woman thinks she has spend all day alone with Harry. Ah, mind spells… they work like a charm. The Dark Lord smiles at his own joke. 

The Dark Lord usually milks his time with Harry, playing with him, but not today. Today, Harry and him are not going to play. They are going to learn.

They are sitting in the middle of the room, Harry happy in the Dark Lord's lap. Meadowes is in the kitchen making them lunch, singing a little tune. 

"Harry," he begins, and the child looks up at him. " _Do you want to practice?"_

Harry grins, quickly forgetting the stuffed elephant in his hands.

" _Yes father."_ It is always delightful to hear Harry switch to parseltongue. Before, Voldemort could not risk Lily and James overhearing them, but now they are all alone. 

" _First, we will learn to read,"_ Voldemort says, conjuring a book from his mansion. Lucius had been shocked when the Dark Lord had asked for little Draco's favorite book. This one told the story of a bunny and only had a few words in it. 

Of course, Lord Voldemort did not expect Harry to read so soon, but the child would need to know how to pronounce single letters correctly for their classes. Mind magic was easier if one knew how to meticulously think about the words in the spell. When he grew up, Harry would find wandless and silent magic much easier than any of his peers.

Harry looks up at Voldemort, confused. The Dark Lord pets his hair. 

" _And then, we will do some magic."_ And with a movement of his wrist he changes Harry's t-shirt color.

The boy is mesmerized.

" _Can I do that?"_

Lord Voldemort smiles.

_"My son, I will not rest until you do."_

-00-

Christmas comes and goes. This year the Potters are invited to the Burrow, but that doesn't stop them from turning their house into a Christmas hell, again. They don't miss a single year, to Voldemort's horror. This time, their latest terrible adquisicion is a talking reindeer that sits on top of their fireplace. It's the most hideous, tacky thing Lord Voldemort has ever had the disgrace to look at. Only close to the reindeer pajama outfit Harry wears.

Harry is asleep now, but he has been going on and on about the party, and the food, and the games. Apparently, someone had been gifted a ceiling swing and Harry had been using it all afternoon. Or misusing it, since Harry had described in detail how he had lay belly down, grabbed his feet and spinned around in the thing until he had been too dizzy to stand up straight.

Voldemort's ghostly hand brushes Harry's dark hair and he lets the child sleep. 

-00-

Harry loves playing hide and seek, but only if he is the one hiding. The game is too easy for Lord Voldemort, he only needs to follow the connection between them to find Harry in his little hide-spots, but he indulges the child.

"Now," he says, walking around Harry's bed. He can sense the child underneath it. "Where would Harry be?"

Harry laughs, not even trying to be too quiet. Lord Voldemort can hear his little feet stomp on the ground. 

"Maybe… under the table?" 

"No!" Harry laughs again, convinced that he is fooling Voldemort. The Dark Lord sighs, a small smile on lips anyway. Harry doesn't seem to completely understand that the point of the game is to remain quiet, too. Still, he plays pretend.

"Yes, that seems too easy. He would be more cunning, I believe. Make no noise, surely." He can almost see how Harry covers his mouth with his little hands to muffle his laughs. "Then, perhaps…"

Fast as a snake, Lord Voldemort sneaks one arm under the bed and grabs Harry's foot, drawing him from under the bed with a quick pull. Harry screams, delighted, as he is dragged across the floor.

"Boo," is all the Dark Lord says.

"Again!" Harry demands, looking up at him with a toothy grin. "Again!"

  
  


-00-

  
  


The first time Harry goes outside the house, not to the Weasley's, just to the streets, he is with Lord Voldemort. 

Winter is starting, and Meadowes dresses Harry to the brim. He is nearly unrecognizable under the layers of clothing, and the scarf, and the hat. Only his big green eyes remain the same.

"We go out, Father?" 

"Yes, Harry," Voldemort says. "The three of us are going to a very special place." 

Harry looks unsure, probably scared, since he has never gone to the streets before. Meadowes smiles at him as she zips up his coat.

"We are going to have a great time, yes?"

"... Okay," Harry finally says. He takes Voldemort's hand to soothe himself. 

The Dark Lord takes one last look around, making sure everything is perfect before he Disapparates the three of them.

They land in a small alley, and Harry immediately begins to pout. He squeezes Voldemort's hand tight, and there are tears in his eyes. He did not like the feeling of Apparition. Meadowes is quick to try and calm him down.

"Honey, everything is fine." Harry's bottom lip is trembling, and he hugs Voldemort's leg. Before things escalate, the Dark Lord crouches down so he is at Harry's eye level.

"Harry, look at me. Do you remember what you have to do?"

The child nods, still holding Voldemort's hand to save his life. He closes his eyes, concentrates, and visibly calms down. Lord Voldemort feels the child's magic swirling around him, still too unfocused to perform real spells, and Voldemort gives it a little push towards the right direction.

Harry's bright red coat turns a deep shade of green, and the boy opens his eyes, tired. The effort seems to calm him down.

"You did very well, Harry. I am very proud."

Harry rubs his eyes, forgetting about the apparition and focusing on his coat. The Dark Lord stands up and adjusts his glamour. The three of them leave the alley, blending into the rest of the families visiting the zoo. Harry seems a bit apprehensive at first. His visits to the Burrow have improved his view on strangers, but the amount of Muggles is still overwhelming. They go straight to the elephant habitat and Harry soon forgets any discomfort for the rest of the day.

"Mum, Mum!" Harry screams as soon as Lily Potter gets home. "I saw elephants today!"

Lily looks happy, but confused, and Meadowes comes to the rescue.

"I thought Harry might enjoy some documentaries. He gets a bit bored coloring all day."

"Mum, Mum!" Harry starts pulling on Lily's skirt. "I saw lions! And penguins! And father told me aaaaaall about them!" 

Finally Lily picks him up, smiling warmly at Meadowes.

"And what did he say?" 

"Elephants can't jump! Something bad with the knees." Harry starts to count with his fingers. "And ice is pegüin's pee-pee!"

Lily raises his eyebrows, sensing that some of the documentaries information is being misinterpreted by her son. Meadowes smiles and leaves the house.

Lord Voldemort's projection dissolves into the shadows with a satisfied smirk. Success. Meadowes's memory charm works perfectly.

-00-

Meadowes teaches Harry how to make soup, and Harry stands proud mixing the ingredients in the pot as if he is making a potion. All under the careful eyes of Lord Voldemort, for sure.

"Harry, don't get too close to the stove," Voldemort warns. It's a meaningless warning, because the Dark Lord has already raised a powerful barrier between the fire and the child. Harry could jump into the very fire itself and be completely unharmed if he so desired. Still, it was good to remind him that he had to be careful.

"Dorcas, look!" Harry says. "I'm just like Mummy!"

"So you are!"

  
  


-00-

Meadowes and Harry do lots of things. They make portraits of people by glueing pasta to paper, they make pillow forts and hide in them, and even have dance parties. Under Lord Voldemort's careful watch, Meadowes was always eager to please Harry in any way possible. Right now thought, Harry doesn't want Meadowes attention.

He sits on the Dark Lord's lap, his head resting on his chest. Harry is doing his best to read his favorite book to Lord Voldemort. 

The book in question is just about colors and a bee, but that's irrelevant. Lord Voldemort pets Harry's hair as he corrects the child's pronunciation and smiles. 

-00-

  
  


"Father, can I eat a cookie?"

"No Harry, no cookies before lunch, remember?" Lord Voldemort is going through Harry's closet, and behind them Meadowes is folding clothing. Today they are doing a wardrobe change, puting the winter clothes away and bringing in the warmer weather ones. Voldemort is displeased to see that, again, the Potters have not gotten Harry a single wizarding robe to wear.

"Okay," Harry says, letting Meadowes try a t-shirt on him. "Two?"

"This one seems a bit tight, my Lord," the witch says, pinching the orange t-shirt that, indeed, has become too small for Harry. He will be turning four in less than a month, so it was expected that he would be getting too big for his clothes.

"Throw it into the reject pile," Lord Voldemort says, not looking at her. If the choice were his, every single item in the closet would burn. "And no, Harry. I will not give you one, and surely not two, cookies."

"Okay. Three?" 

"No cookies, Harry. If you are good, we can talk about it again after lunch. Or maybe tomorrow."

Harry pouts, but nods. He lets the Dark Lord and Meadowes work for a while before he speaks again.

"Father, why do we do this?" he asks, looking down at his clothes.

"We are making sure your clothes fit you."

"When can we play hiding?"

Lord Voldemort sighs. Meadowes pushes another t-shirt past Harry's shoulders and the child seems bored.

"We will be doing this all afternoon, Harry. We can play tomorrow."

Harry seems about to pout, but a bird singing distracts him.

"Father, why is the sky blue?" 

"That," the Dark Lord says, picking up a pair of jeans that look extremely small and folding them into the rejected pile "it's a very difficult question. It has to do with the sun, and the air, and our eyes... and very difficult things that are not easy to understand. I will explain better when you are older."

"I'm older now! What difficult things?"

"The atmosphere, for example," Voldemort says. Harry presses his lips together and mutters that yes, it sounds difficult. 

"Daddy says it is because of the sea," he points out.

"Well, your daddy has no idea what he is talking about," Voldemort replies. 

There is silence again. Harry has learned that usually Father was right in everything he said. 

"Father, can we play with the lights again?"

"Tomorrow, Harry."

"Okay.”

This time the silence doesn't even last a few seconds.

“Father, when's 'tomorrow'?"

-00-

Voldemort gifts Harry a toy wand for his fourth birthday. It can only perform a few spells, but it works perfectly for Lord Voldemort's plans. He has to show Harry how to properly handle a magical wand.

"Soften the wrist, Harry." 

Harry tries again, but the novelty of the wand is wearing off. He had been happy to try it when Voldemort had first brought it, knowing every adult in his life had one, but not anymore. Without the magic behind it, Harry has just been waving a stick the exact same way for twenty minutes. And, as all kids, he is not exactly patient. 

The Dark Lord sighs. It's going to be a long afternoon.

-00-

Harry is drawing when Voldemort appears. The Weasleys have given him a drawing table for his birthday and Harry is enamoured with it.

"Father, look!" Harry quickly says when he sees him. Harry gives his drawing a final touch and then he runs to Voldemort, sitting on his lap almost before the man has properly sat down.

"Look, me," he says, pointing at a small figure in the drawing, with black hair and what the Dark Lord supposes is a big smile. "You."

Harry points at the other figure, a long, thin body that towers over Harry's own. It is dressed all in black and the only things in its long face are a pair of red dots and a gigantic open mouth.

It's… not very flattering.

"That is… very pretty, Harry." The Dark Lord remembers that one time Sirius Black had laughed out loud, drunk and jolly in Christmas, and said that Lord Voldemort looked like a badly shaved testicle. The drawing is somehow worse than that. It is truly horrifying.

Harry smiles up at him, happy that he likes it, then removes himself from Voldemort's lap and goes back to his desk.

-00-

Lord Voldemort misses Christmas that year. Harry is not happy. To cheer him up, his father tells him a secret.

They both celebrate The Dark Lord's birthday eating ice cream in the backyard while James and Lily sleep. Much later, when Harry is so tired he falls asleep in Voldemort's lap, his father carries him to bed and tucks him in for the first time ever.

-00-

James and Lily Potter are at the door, buttoning up their jackets and smiling. Harry looks at them, not understanding where his parents are going.

"We will be back before you know it, sweetie." James kisses the top of Harry's head and winks at him. 

"Okay," is all that Harry says. He doesn't look worried about his parents leaving, just curious. 

"You be good for the babysitter tonight, okay honey?" Lily hugs her son and Harry swings his little arms around her neck so his mum picks him up when she stands 

"Father said he's coming tonight," Harry says, leaning against Lily's chest. "He said I can go with him to his house."

Lily brushes her nose against Harry's, smiling.

"Aww, that sounds like fun. Make sure you say hello to him for me."

Harry smiles.

"Okay, Mummy."

-

The last few years have been troubling for Millicent Bagnold, the Dark Lord has made sure of it. Stepping into the position of Minister of Magic after the harsh, but ultimately pointless, presidency of Harold Minchum, had not been easy for her. Two of her predecessors had been forced to step down of the position thanks to the unstoppable first rise of the Dark Lord, a fact no one had let her forget. 

But she is good. Lord Voldemort can recognize greatness when he sees it. That's why, after all these years of quiet planning, her assassination tastes deliciously sweet. He casts the Avada Kedrava himself, inside the Minister's very own office, with two of his auror spies at each side. The look of shock, anger and fear had been priceless.

Things go pretty quickly from there. Bella sends her signal, which means the distraction plan is already in motion. While Dumbledore and the Ministry are busy trying to suffocate the attack on Muggle London before it's too late, no one will miss the Minister. She was supposed to be travelling abroad tonight, anyway. 

But most importantly, the second rise of Lord Voldemort will be hidden for a few more hours. Just enough time to do one last thing.

Lord Voldemort Apparates to the front of the Potter's home. He enters the house and doesn't find a young, powerful woman taking care of Harry, but weak old lady, a squib. Of course, Dorcas Meadowes is in the fight in Muggle London, as soon will be James and Lily Potter, shaken off their little date.

A green light fills the hallway and the Dark Lord steps over the dead body of the woman, no need to pretend now. In the living room, Harry. The child looks up at him and smiles.

Voldemort can't help but remember the very first time he had seen Harry in the flesh, so similar to this very moment. There is an eerie feeling of deja vu in the air.

The Lord approaches the child, lifting him up from the floor.

"Hello, Harry." 

"Hi, Father."

The Dark Lord smiles, and, with the child in his arms, starts moving to Harry's room. He is careful so Harry doesn't see the dead body. He will have time to learn all about that once he is home. And maybe a bit older. After all, the Dark Lord himself had never killed anything until he was around ten.

"We are going to pack your things, alright Harry?" 

The child smiles, excited about this new adventure. His father always took him to the best adventures. 

As they reach Harry's room, the boy seems to remember something.

"Father?" he asks.

"Yes?"

"Mummy says 'hello'."


	4. The Tower

**Chapter 3**

****

**The Wild Unknown deck**

**-**

Riddle Manor is an imposing sight. It stands proud at the top of a cliff, its gardens vast and green. Lord Voldemort allows Harry to choose a room and, in what can only be Potter extravagance, the child fills it with the most pointless clutter. For the last two days, a handful of house-elves the Dark Lord procured for himself have been running around the house like headless chickens. Harry has never seen one before, but he gets used to them quickly enough. Something about their big eyes and meek demeanor seems to amuse the child.

Harry ́s disappearance seems to be kept a secret, for now. It's quite amusing, how Lord Voldemort just knows Dumbledore is the one keeping everything quiet. It is a subtle move to try and not scare the masses. James and Lily Potter had not been subtle a single second in their entire lives.

It is also a political move, of course. Dumbledore cannot afford another Longbottom situation. That would be not only humiliating but total political suicide. Who would trust the old professor, if he couldn't even protect the ones who put themselves completely in his hands?

Standing on the balcony of his rooms he wonders if killing the Longbottom boy now would be a bit of an overkill. Truth be told, he doesn't know where the boy is right now, but Bellatrix was in charge of keeping an eye on him. It shouldn't be difficult to plan an assassination, now that Dumbledore would have dropped his guard around Longbottom, too focused on containing the living storms that were the Potters and their acquaintances.

Behind him, Harry stirs in his too-big bed. The child yawns and turns, quickly falling asleep again. He sounds content. Lord Voldemort ́s chest feels warm at the thought. Finally, everything is as it was always supposed to be. Now, Lord Voldemort just has to keep it that way.

It´s not like Dumbledore can be sure Voldemort got to Harry, since the abduction scene gave absolutely no information about the abductor, but the old man isn´t stupid. Now, both Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort are on the same page about who is the prophecy child. The public, on the other hand, could be easily manipulated. 

Harry sighs in his sleep, and Lord Voldemort smiles against the cold night air. He might be paying a visit to Neville Longbottom at some point, yes.

-000-

There is something on the air, something building up and just about to explode. The morning had been tense, although Lord Voldemort couldn't tell what was going to happen. He just knows that, as with most things these days, it was all about Harry.

It has been two weeks since the Minister of Magic was found dead and the Dark Lord officially rose again in Britain. Two weeks since Harry Potter first started living with Lord Voldemort.

It has been surprisingly easy for Voldemort to adapt. He is busy, but most of his work can be done in his study. And, for the past few weeks, Harry has been happy to just play with all his new toys and explore Riddle Manor. They have never spent so much time together, and both of them relish it. Harry seems happy to just be in the same room as Lord Voldemort, and the Dark Lord adores how Harry ́s only focus is him. How had he stood it before, sharing Harry with the Potters? The Dark Lord's patience knows no bounds, it is now clear to him.

The house-elves are also very useful at keeping the child entertained. Still, lately, Harry has been a bit less content with just exploring and enjoying the new situation he is in.

"Father, can we go home today?" The child is sitting to the right of the Dark Lord, eating his veggies, on his best behavior. Lord Voldemort looks up from his book.

"We are home, Harry." 

Harry nods, because they have had this conversation quite a few times during the last few days, but he does not drop the subject. Lord Voldemort frowns.

"When are we going to see Mummy and Daddy?" 

The Dark Lord takes a deep breath. He understands why Harry would ask that, but it still makes his blood boil. He wishes he could just obliviate every trace of Lily and James Potter from the child's mind. He had considered doing it, too, but children's minds are more fragile than adults´. Erasing Harry's memories could be dangerous. So, he gives the same answer he has been giving every day since Harry came to the Manor.

"I don't know, Harry. Not today." 

Harry purses his lips but doesn't say anything. Lord Voldemort knows Harry doesn't want to anger his father with petty tantrums. The Dark Lord has finally taught Harry that no amount of crying will make him change his mind, and that Harry should talk his way into his desires. But a thought has been forming in Harry's mind, Lord Voldemort can see it in his eyes. Harry looks down and starts playing with his food.

"Do they not love me anymore?" The child's voice is so quiet Lord Voldemort almost misses it. When Voldemort looks up at Harry he can see the child biting his lip. Harry is fighting back tears. Something inside the Dark Lord's stomach twists painfully at the sight. 

The child looks so miserable, tense and frightened, that Lord Voldemort stands up to ease him, his book forgotten on the table. He crouches next to him, as he used to do when Harry was but a baby. Harry looks at him from under his wet eyelashes, his bottom lip is trembling. The Dark Lord frowns.

It would be so easy to lie to Harry. To let him think his parents abandoned him, that they were not looking for him. To feed his hurt until it turned to anger and resentment, and Harry wouldn't be able to look at Lily and James Potter the same ever again. Until Lord Voldemort was all that was left, the only thing on his mind. Deceit, sweet as honey, is tempting and right there for him to use.

And yet, Lord Voldemort is selfish. He doesn't need Harry hating his parents, a lie that could be easily discovered and difficult to handle. No, what he wants is more meaningful than that, and it makes the Dark Lord's insides coil painfully with how much he craves it. He wants Harry to choose him over them.

It's something he has been thinking for quite some time now. Harry, older and by his side. Proud of standing beside him, no matter their history. His son, powerful and loyal and all his. Completely his, like no deceit or charm could ever make him. That kind of loyalty, of ownership, is not something that could be achieved with lies. There was a reason Bellatrix was his right hand and not Lucius, why Barty was more cherished than smarter, more competent Severus. Real loyalty required trust, and no misled man could trust. Lord Voldemort was starving for Harry´s trust.

_Choose me, Harry_ , he begged at night, standing by Harry's bed while the child slept. _Choose me over them._

No, the Dark Lord doesn't want lies. He avoids temptation and decides to put an end to this line of questioning. Also, Harry is too young to feel unloved. It makes Lord Voldemort's chest too tight to see him feeling that way.

"Harry, listen to me." Lord Voldemort runs his fingers through Harry's hair, cups his cheeks with both hands. Harry leans into him when the tears start to fall from his eyes. "Your Mum and Dad love you, but they hate me. If we go back, they will make sure I never see you again. That is why I brought you here, to our new home. My home. Do you wish to never see me again?"

Harry opens his eyes, the tears momentarily stopping. He brings his hands up and covers the Dark Lord's. Harry looks worried, but also relieved.

"Mummy and Daddy don't hate you, Father, don't be sad." Voldemort would laugh at Harry's tone if he wasn't trying to accomplish something here. Harry is so reassuring, as if the Dark Lord cares about what the Potters think about him. "They like you! I know! I promise! Can we go back now?"

It is… cute, in a way, how Harry misinterprets the situation. The child thinks Voldemort's feelings are being hurt and he is trying to make him feel better. Children's worlds are so simple. 

"Harry… remember how they couldn't see me? And how they never let you out of the house?" Harry looks confused because of course, he remembers. So smart, for such a young age.

"Mummy and Daddy say it's not safe." 

"They didn't let you out because they were afraid I would find you, Harry," Voldemort speaks slowly, knowing how crucial it is that Harry understands these things. "I didn't let them see me because I knew they wouldn't want me there, with you."

Harry is still looking confused, but at least he is not crying anymore. He looks conflicted, though, as if he is trying to see what Voldemort is explaining to him. Maybe it is time for a bolder move, Lord Voldemort thinks.

"Harry, if you really want me to, I will get you back to your old home." He forces the words out of his mouth.

"You will?" Harry breaks into a big, disbelieving smile. Lord Voldemort waits, staring at the child without blinking. He lets the silence build until he can see uncertainty starting to appear in Harry's eyes. "Father?"

The Dark Lord lets the chilling silence stay for a few more seconds, watching Harry ́s apprehension grow. Waiting until it almost tips into anxiety, before he speaks.

"If you truly desire to, then I will. I want you to be happy, my son, and safe. Always." The Dark Lord caresses Harry's cheek, and Harry's smile is tentative and sweet. "But, if we go back, they will take you away. You will never see me again, Harry. They will hide you, and I will not be able to reach you. Is that what you want?"

The child has gone pale, his breath quick, and Lord Voldemort knows this a decision too big to place on the shoulders of a child. He wants to calm Harry down, tell him that no matter his choice the Dark Lord will not give him up. That it´s an empty, hollow choice, because while Lord Voldemort would prefer Harry choosing him, he is not going to let him _not_ do it. He will obliviate Harry if necessary, although with utmost care. They will not be separated, he tries to promise with his eyes.

He wishes he could say it out loud too but, ah, that would defeat the whole purpose of asking.

"If you want me to, Harry, I will leave you. But then we will never see each other again."

Harry ́s eyes are big and bright. Lord Voldemort looks deep into them, past the green iris and into Harry ́s very thoughts. He fights back a smug smile.

He has his answer.

-000-

"Bella, this is Harry. Harry, Bella."

Harry is hiding behind Lord Voldemort´s legs, too shy to come to greet the Death Eater. The child has been keeping to himself a bit too much lately, or so the elves had informed him. The Dark Lord guessed Harry was having some trouble adjusting to everything this new situation entailed. Exploring an empty mansion and some toys are not cutting it anymore. He needs to be distracted.

The child misses his parents, and there is only so much a soulmark can do for a child. Especially after how attached Harry had been to James and Lily, and seeing how the Dark Lord can ́t be with Harry every second of the day. The child needs companionship and attention; he is used to a constant stream of it. Lord Voldemort can't give Harry his parents back, but he can give him the next best thing.

"Hello." Bellatrix smiles down at Harry, waving her fingers. She sends an inquisitive glance at Lord Voldemort. "My Lord?"

Bellatrix knows who Harry is. Half the world knows, by now. Dumbledore had played a risky move. The Potters have been everywhere, speaking with every magical newspaper, Albus Dumbledore by their side, talking about their stolen child. After Harry's disappearance, James Potter had the Auror department register the entire house and they had found one small clue. Harry's drawing. The one he had so lovingly painted of the Dark Lord and himself

Lord Voldemort has seen that drawing everywhere, too. He just wished he had been there to see the Potters faces when they found it. Priceless, surely. 

So, of course, Bellatrix Lestrange knows who Harry is. He is the missing child of James and Lily Potter, the one that had been taken —murdered, almost every paper said— by Lord Voldemort. Dumbledore himself had said he believed Harry dead, no matter how his parents kept trying to hope for a simple kidnapping. From Lord Voldemort. 

He wonders what Lily and James think about their child's little imaginary friend now. Have they discovered it was Voldemort all along? Wormtail has been out of the country for some time now, on some Order mission, and the papers haven't said anything about it. Dumbledore seems to subscribe to the theories of Harry being dead, a half-blood child cruelly murdered by a maniac tyran, to stain Lord Voldemort ́s reputation internationally. That would not overly concern his established allies, not if it came from Dumbledore, but it could surely put the broader public against the Dark Lord. 

Of course, if one left out the fact that Harry was the prophecy child, his unjustified murder would make Lord Voldemort look a little bad.

So, Bellatrix knows who Harry is. What she doesn't know is what either Harry or her are doing here.

"Bella, this is my son," Lord Voldemort says, composed. Harry presses closer to him. "And I want you to teach him proper hexing as soon as he gets his first wand." 

She blinks. Her eyes go back to Harry, who hides even more. He is gripping Voldemort's robe tight, pressing his cheek against Voldemort's legs. 

Bellatrix is kneeling on the floor, her black hair pinned in an intricate up-do and her dress thick and deep green. She looks like a proper lady. Her eyes grow brighter the longer she stares at Harry.

"It would be an honor to serve the Dark Lord's son, master." Her voice is calm and contained, showing all her adoration and none of the ideas Lord Voldemort can see already building in her mind. "May I suggest starting with potions, too? One is never too young to start messing around a cauldron. He will not even need a wand if he is supervised."

Bella's smile is charming, and her suggestion makes Lord Voldemort smile. His Bella, always so cunning. She keeps sending looks at Harry, curious, seeing opportunity. Voldemort picks Harry in his arms, and the child goes willingly. Harry hides his face in Voldemort's neck when Bella's eyes follow him, hungry.

" _You did very well, my son_." Bellatrix doesn't even flinch when he speaks, too used to parseltongue to find it as scary as she should. She is busy calculating, scheming, trying to understand what the Dark Lord could want from the Potters' child. Why he would call the half-blood his son.

Harry looks at him, looking like a proper pureblood in his little robes with snakes. His hair is still as messy as it was when he lived with the Potters, but that is a battle the Dark Lord is willing to lose. Sometimes it looks like Harry is all wild hair, big green eyes, and tanned skin.

" _But I didn't do anything, father,_ " he answers, the snake language spilling from his lips easly. 

Bellatrix gasps out loud, and the Dark Lord hides his smirk in Harry's hair.

" _But you did. You gave Bella an excuse to raise not only her position in my ranks, but to open and secure a place for her dear husband, too. He is an excellent potioneer._ "

Bellatrix is looking at them, mesmerized. Her eyes jump from Harry's little form to Lord Voldemort's. The glint in her eyes looks almost like reverence.

" _And she will tell anyone willing to listen that she and her husband are teaching the Dark Lord's heir_."

-000-

It works like a charm. Bella soon takes a liking to Harry, training and entertaining him in equal parts. She enjoys tricking the child, doing jumpscares that usually leave Harry sitting on the floor, laughing.

Rodolphus helps to ease his wife's antics, usually taking Harry's side and delighting the child by tricking her right back whenever Harry asks for revenge.

They are doing splendid work, teaching Harry to give orders and expect certain treatment, as well as showing him he needs to be constantly aware of his surroundings. The Dark Lord is most pleased. Wand waving and potions are secondary concerns right now. Harry just needs to learn the basics of magic, so they will come naturally to him once he starts receiving a proper education. Six or seven years old seems like a proper age to find Harry a wand, but the Dark Lord has already started to look for one. 

Chance is always a good ally, but he doesn't plan on letting anything related to Harry depend on something so mundane.

-000-

Father and son still find some time to explore together. As spring breaks in, Harry and the Dark Lord establish the routine of going to the further edges of Riddle Manor´s gardens, where they collect rocks, plants or flowers. If nothing interesting seems to come by, Lord Voldemort will conjure some exotic plant for Harry to find. 

They also establish a day to practice potions together with whatever they have collected in their explorations. Botanics are very useful for a wizard, and basic knowledge of poisons, both how to create them and avoid them, is a good skill to develop early, especially as Harry doesn't have a wand yet. It is not that Voldemort doesn't trust Rodolphus, but some secrets should only belong to one ́s child.

Sometimes though, they just go berry picking and bake a pie with said berries. 

-000-

Lord Voldemort is a busy man, now more than ever. Before, he could spend most of his time in his study planning, designing and scheming behind the scenes. Now, he needs to act, talk and travel. Sometimes, his travels take him out of the country for days or even weeks. Tonight marks the twentieth day since he has last seen Harry in person. He is restless, he grew used to being around the child so often that now a day feels like ages. The Dark Lord is not used to… missing someone. 

He is sitting at a round table filled with east African sorcerers, in a hidden location somewhere in Mali. They are going over a treaty, to let Lord Voldemort start a recruitment and training center in the desert, away from the Order ́s eyes. Dream magic is exceptionally good for spying purposes.

The Dark Lord lets his thoughts wander for just a second towards the nearing nightfall. He is visiting Harry tonight, through their soulmark bond, as he used to do. He can't leave the continent just yet, but since they moved to the manor he promised Harry to tell him a story before bed every night. He doesn't plan on betraying his word just because he is away. And with such a long distance between them, their soulmark bond makes his projecting easier and less dangerous that apparition. It is also conveniently undetectable by the British Ministry´s frontier customs. The international apparating and portkey wards have become exasperatingly stronger since Lord Voldemort killed the Minister of Magic. 

No matter. As soon as his puppet, Ainsworth, is elected as minister, everything will be just as Lord Voldemort wishes it to be. 

He turns his attention back to the meeting, the promise of both the night and future to come sweet on his mind.

-000-

Introducing Harry to Barty is easier than taking a breath. Barty has been begging for months to see the child, to help Bella and Rodolphus in his training. Barty is an excellent wizard, and Bellatrix is oh so happy to be trusted over him with Harry's care.

Rumor has extended through his inner circle, that the Dark Lord has a son. Of course, anyone who is anybody in the Death Eaters wants the honor, power, and position that will, surely, come from being involved with the child. Every devoted follower wants to be regarded as worthy of spending time around his master. Every proud wizard and witch in his service hopes to be considered skilled enough to be asked to teach. Every rat wants to be the shadow that might guide the child whispering in the Dark Lord's ear. 

No one has been allowed anywhere near Harry yet. None of them even know Lord Voldemort´s son is Harry Potter. Dumbledore and the Potters seemed to be set in Harry being dead by now. 

The Dark Lord is planning to make Harry ́s first appearance to his followers an event, but not until he is ready. Not until the child is skilled enough to defend himself if necessary. Lord Voldemort is not foolish enough to raise Dumbledore ́s suspicions. He can't trust just anyone around Harry, not yet. Not even his inner circle. But Barty begs, with the eyes of someone enamored with the very idea of breathing the same air as someone close to the Dark Lord. Voldemort finally concedes.

The Dark Lord knows that Barty has always found in Lord Voldemort the father figure that he lacked at home. Someone to look up to, who could be proud of his true talents and would help him explore them. Someone that could be both a god and a teacher, power and knowledge. Such a Ravenclaw, Barty.

So, of course, Barty is delighted by Harry. He takes the child into his arms with reverence every time he is asked to do so. Lord Voldemort feels his mouth curve. What would Barty do if he found out he was holding his master ́s soulmate in his arms? What would anyone else do? The thought is both exhilarating and terrifying. 

The Dark Lord was delighted by Barty telling him he was teaching Harry to mean a curse.

-000-

Barty and Harry collect insects and study them, open them up and figure out how they work. Harry seems repulsed by the idea at the beginning, but he is a curious child and he enjoys telling Voldemort about his discoveries. The child can talk and talk about almost anything for hours, and the Dark Lord enjoys his chatter.

Bella, Rodolphus and Harry have developed a pretty intense version of Simon Says, which Harry adores, and he gets much better at hide and seek. 

-000-

As Harry's birthday approaches, he looks sadder by the day. He misses his parents, Lord Voldemort knows. It has been almost four months since Harry stepped out of the Potters' house. 

He needs some new distraction, and so, for his birthday, Lord Voldemort gives it to him.

Harry adores his new pet.

" _Father, Nagini wants to eat._ "

Harry is standing in front of the fireplace, petting the giant snake. The Dark Lord had found her in one of his journeys to visit vampire clans in Albany and thought it a good companion for Harry. The snake could act as both an entertainment and protection if Harry ever needed it.

"The rabbits are in their cage, Harry. Take one out and let her hunt it in the yard," he answers in English. Since Harry got Nagini he barely speaks English anymore, and the Dark Lord finds himself correcting the child more and more often. Harry still needs to practice English and broaden his vocabulary. Parseltongue might be intimidating, but a mediocre speaking pattern could bring down Merlin himself.

Harry pouts, but switches languages.

"Does she have to eat them?" he asks, hugging Nagini's body as she curls around him. "They haven't done anything to her. Can't we find her something else to eat?"

"She is a snake, son. Snakes eat rabbits. Do you want her to starve to death?" Harry pouts again, and Lord Voldemort sighs. "They are just rabbits."

Nagini's huge head comes to rest on top of Harry's. Her tongue tickles Harry's nose.

" _Hungry… little master…_ " Harry frowns at the snake's hiss.

"Well… I don't want her to be hungry. You're right, Father, they're just rabbits." Harry smiles, scratching the dark scales of the snake's body. 

Lord Voldemort hides a smirk. It's important to teach Harry that some lives are more valuable than others.

-000-

Whenever Lord Voldemort comes back from a trip the first thing he does is enter Harry´s room. The child is usually asleep, but everything in the room suggests he tries to stay up until Lord Voldemort comes home. The light is always on, and the bed filled with whatever the child wants to show him. Tonight, Harry´s bed is full of drawings of what Voldemort guesses are flowers. 

The Dark Lord smiles, soft and tender. Harry looks so peaceful when he sleeps, no worries or fears, no thoughts or questions about his parents. Harry, asleep, can't see how tonight Voldemort's robes are covered in blood. He just dreams, safe from any troubling thoughts.

Tonight, Harry is not just asleep. Lord Voldemort had told the house elves to spike his dinner with a potent sleeping potion, knowing that the Death Eaters were having a raid near Hogsmeade. After those kinds of raids, the Dark Lord usually looked rather uncivilized, to say the least. He didn't want Harry up for that scenario, with all the questions and doubts it could arise.

Lord Voldemort looms over Harry´s bed. The child shifts in his sleep and some of the drawings fall to the ground. He is oblivious to the fact that today was the first time Lord Voldemort saw James Potter since he took Harry. It felt so satisfying, the pure hatred in the man's eyes. Knowing he thought Harry dead, when Harry was safe and loved, in Lord Voldemort's home.

Loved. A strange concept, until now. Albus Dumbledore would say it is not love that he feels. Lord Voldemort doesn't care for his flawed opinions. Harry is loved, much more that he would ever be with the Potters. Looking at him, it is easy to see that Harry cannot be allowed back to his parents, to Dumbledore. He needs protection from their lies about Voldemort´s actions, which he would fall for, the naive, innocent child. 

He is Voldemort ́s, and they would never understand that. They don't care about Harry, not like him, never like him.

"I will keep you safe, Harry," Lord Voldemort whispers, running the back of his fingers through Harry´s hair. "I will protect you from them all... even from yourself."

He leans in and kisses Harry´s forehead. The soulmark in his wrist tingles, as if agreeing with Lord Voldemort´s reasoning. 

-000-

Of course, just as things seem to be falling perfectly into place —the British Ministry is chaos, Lord Voldemort's alliances in Asia are finally gaining some weight, Harry has learned to control his accidental magic to make it not-accidental most of the time— everything crumbles right before the Dark Lord's eyes. 

He is writing a letter in his study when he first feels the ground shake. He stops, the inked-covered tip of his writing feather just shy from the paper. There is a heartbeat of silence, then the ink inside the glass inkwell moves again.

There is no warning before the entire rooms shakes, violent and sudden. It lasts a second, but it seems like the very foundations of the house are screeching, the atmosphere inside the Manor getting tighter and tighter until something finally snaps.

Lord Voldemort doesn't need Barty running into his office to know what happened. He is already up, wand in hand when the boy gives him the news.

The wards around Riddle Manor have fallen.

Which can only mean Dumbledore has found him.

It's funny, in a way, that Dumbledore would take so long to realize Voldemort was using his dead father's house as his current residence. The magic wards weren´t exceptionally strong, since they had no magical bloodline to bind them to the house, but the Dark Lord had relished in dirtying every corner of the muggle house with dark magic. Still, Voldemort had hoped the wards would be able to resist Dumbledore a bit longer than they had. He must have gotten some spell to help break them.

"They are surrounding the west gardens, master." Barty had been just leaving, his turn to look after Harry soon finished. He looks pale and tense.

"Get Harry" is the only thing Voldemort says as he passes Barty by the door. "You and Rodolphus leave him in the old Lestrange Manor. Make sure Isolda Lestrange understands that no matter how loyal her husband was, if I find a single hair out of place on Harry's head she will be sorry."

"But, my Lord," Barty licks his lips with troubling urgency, "Harry is in the west gardens."

Lord Voldemort stands very still, then carefully turns to look at Barty. Was this a simple attack? Was it an ambush? Lord Voldemort apparates right outside. 

Of course, the gardens are a mess. Figures running, casting spells, destroying anyone and anything as they go. Just as he lands in the gardens Lord Voldemort has to deflect a spell that missed its intended target, before casting a notice-me-not charm on himself.

As it is his main operation base, the Dark Lord had placed some additional protections around his muggle father's home. Among them, an automatic call to his marked Death Eaters if the wards ever were to fall. So while the Order might have thought they had the element of surprise, said hope was soon proved wrong. Dark figures are apparating all around the gardens. Some of them even hit the ground running, wands ready. Lord Voldemort is glad to see that the training plan he had installed for his marked Death Eaters was paying off. 

Dumbledore would have nothing to do against him. Once he finds Harry, gets him somewhere safe, he will crush anyone who thought they could break into the Dark Lord´s home. 

Lord Voldemort moves around the gardens like a shadow, muttering a version of the point-me spell to find Harry. He runs through spells, screaming for Harry through his bond. There is no answer. Harry is too young to channel magic through the soulmark. Lord Voldemort can only curse and hope the child had not been scared enough to apparate using accidental magic. The chance of splinching when accidental and stressed casting was unbelievably high. And child splinching usually meant death. He is… not relaxed as he runs through the now battlefield. 

Harry knows these gardens, he tells himself. He won´t be found if he doesn´t want to. 

A green light breaks the midday light and Lord Voldemort´s heart jumps to his throat. The image of Harry ́s little form, running scared through the gardens, fills his mind. It is soon replaced by the image of his son ́s rigid body lying in the grass. Cold and forever still, because of a death curse landing on the wrong target.

"No killing!" the Dark Lord´s roar resonates around the entire grounds, and both Death Eaters and Order members look shocked. "No killing until I say so!"

Most of his followers will obey, but not all. Not when Dumbledore´s side was attacking, not the ones that are fighting better wizards than themselves. He needs to find Harry. Soon. He drops the notice-me-not.

Lord Voldemort dispatches a pair of wizards before they can properly see who is attacking them when he sees Rodolphus Lestrange. And, at his feet, Nagini. When his eyes fall to the snake Voldemort's blood freezes. Harry is alone.

"Where is him?" he asks, parseltongue first, before turning to Lestrange. "Where is Harry?"

The wizard looks terrible, his face cut his hair messy. Sweating and bleeding, he takes a deep breath before answering.

"The moment I found the snake alone I started looking for him, my Lord"

Nagini raises her head. The snake has been glued to Harry ́s since the moment she was brought to the house. The Dark Lord wishes he could be angry at her for abandoning Harry when most needed, but she is just an animal. Her hiss sounds distressed.

"Little master said play hiding," Lord Voldemort doesn't bother to hide his grimace. Of course, Harry would play hide and seek now, at the most inconvenient time. The child might not even know what was going on yet. "Then a lot of smells, they cover little master's. Can´t find, can´t find."

It is infuriating, how helpless the Dark Lord is starting to feel. He grabs Rodolphus´s arm and digs his fingers into his flesh. 

"Find my son, Lestrange." Lord Voldemort´s voice was low, both a threat and an anxious hiss. "Or Merlin help you, you will wish you had never been born."

He leaves Lestrange with one last warning look before he starts searching again. Dumbledore is nowhere to be seen, but that doesn´t mean he is not around. 

It takes some time, but finally, Lord Voldemort feels it. A tug at the back of his mind, a pull in between the chaos. A thread. A soul, reaching to his soulmate. Harry. He turns around as if cursed, following the connection around the gardens like a mad man. Voldemort doges and shields from flying hexes, curses when a telling green light runs through the sky again. Harry is still nowhere to be seen. And then, he sees him.

Harry is running down a hill, his face covered in tears. He must have felt Voldemort approaching and left his hiding spot, for his clothes are filthy with dirt and leaves. The Dark Lord feels as is his breath is being stolen from his lungs at the sight. Harry is alright.

"Father!" The cry is loud enough to reach Voldemort ́s ears, but not only his. Just as second after seeing Harry, the Dark Lords notices a figure at the top of the hill turn around to look at the child. A figure standing a couple of steps behind his terrified son. A figure wearing no mask. 

Lord Voldemort roars, prepares for apparition, but it is too late. The wizard raises his wand and throws a binding spell on Harry, dragging the child across the field and away from Voldemort. Harry screams, tugging at the magical bindings and crying, no doubt getting hurt by them. The Dark Lord sees red.

The wizard pulls Harry up, twisting an arm around his neck to hold him, visibly surprised to find a child here. He doesn't have much time to be surprised before he finds Lord Voldemort suddenly barely three steps away from him. The Dark Lords fingers tremble in rage. The wizard is too close to Harry, hexing him will put Harry in danger.

"Get your filthy hands off him." Lord Voldemort growls.

Of course, that is the moment Dumbledore shows himself. 

The old man stands at the bottom of the hill as if he was just taking a little hike. As if he hadn't shattered Voldemort's wards. As if he wasn't stepping on the lands that once belonged to the Dark Lord's father, unwelcome and uninvited. As if he wasn't looking at Harry with disbelief and greed.

"Step away from the child, Tom."

The nerve.

Lord Voldemort takes a step forward instead, his eyes burning holes in his old professor's eyes. He is barely three steps away from Harry and the wizard. Harry is crying, and the other man looks about to cry too. Voldemort feels a savage smile extending through his face. The man is scared. When the Dark Lord turns all his attention to him, and the wizard's knees tremble.

"S-stop!" The man says, pointing his wand at Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord's smile is now wide enough to show his canines, fury barely contained. "Not another step! D-Dumbledore is here."

"I-Is him?" He mocks the wizard, taking another step. "And what do you expect him to do? Come up here and save you, before I can introduce your insides to the ground?"

The wizard trembles and his arm around Harry's neck tightens. Lord Voldemort's insides ignite as Harry chokes out a whine. He already knows this man will not make it through the night.

"Harry!" A cry cuts the moment, and Lily Potter's bright red head makes an appearance. She is still too far away to even try and hex them, but the voice makes both Harry and Dumbledore turn towards her. Lord Voldemort's smile twist into a snarl. Of course. Things were not bad enough already.

"Run, boy." He warns the wizard, the venom in his voice so potent it almost burns his tongue. "Run for your life." 

"Tom, don't be foolish–" Dumbledore's words only seem to make the Dark Lord's eyes more vicious on their target. Dumbledore is still at the bottom of the hill, looking at the scene in front of him as if he was sure we could fix everything with just soft words. It makes Voldemort sick.

The wizard sends one last glance towards Dumbledore before he seems to make his decision. He has nowhere to run, and Lord Voldemort takes another step towards him. The wizard tosses Harry into Voldemort's arms, ignoring the agonizing scream of Lily. He doesn't make it down the little hill alive.

His body rolls on the grass as Lord Voldemort lowers his wand to hug Harry with both arms. The child is crying all over him, ruining his dark robes, but he doesn't care. He tightens his hold around Harry's shoulders as the child trembles in his arms.

"Harry!" Comes another desperate scream. Voldemort looks up and sees Lily, who seems to be being held back by a barrier. It only takes one look for the Dark Lord to see it has been raised by Dumbledore. Lily is banging on the magical barrier, screaming her child's name at the top of his lungs.

"Lily, it's too dangerous, let me handle this–" Dumbledore never gets to finish the sentence, Lily interrupts him with another scream. The Dark Lord can't help himself.

"Trouble controlling your children, professor?" He barks more than says. Harry shivers.

Dumbledore's eyes turn to him, cold and strong as steel, as they always were when they rested on Tom Riddle all those years ago. He used to think Albus Dumbledore had perfectioned that particular look just for him. It made him feel angry, back in the day. Now they only make him smug. It means Dumbledore doesn't know how to act.

"Step away from that child, Tom."

Ah, the condescending tone. As if he was still talking to an eleven-year-old who happened to steal some things. That tone, unlike the look, turned old very quickly. 

"No," Lord Voldemort says, tightening his hold around Harry. "I don't think I will." 

Harry grips Voldemort's robes with both fists and buries his face on Voldemort's robes. Has he seen his mother? Or is he just scared? The Dark Lord can't know. He takes a look around, a lot of his Death Eaters are still fighting, but the ones closest to them have stopped to look at the scene going on. 

This is not at all how he had imagined things going, but knowing how to improvise was an invaluable virtue. And the Dark Lord was well versed in it. 

James Potter runs into the scene just in time. Lord Voldemort almost smiles. Every piece in place, as if fate itself was holding its breath for the scene about to unfold. The air around the Dark Lord is near vibrating.

"Everyone, take a good look." The Lord Voldemort roars, clutching Harry in his arms. "This child is mine. And anyone who tries to take him from will die!"

Harry is in shock, hugging the Dark Lord's legs. The child looks down, at the wizard's body down the hill, as if he might be about to puke. Albus Dumbledore's expression doesn't seem to change, but his eyes shine in that way they always do when surprised. 

"Here and now, I let you all know, Harry James Potter is my son. Fate gave him to me, and if you," his vicious in his voice as his eyes land on James and Lily, covered in sweat and dirt, before they move to Dumbledore, "think you can have him, we will meet in war."

The battlefield is thunderous, but the words still seem to cut through it all. Both Death Eaters and Order members turn to look at the Dark Lord, disbelief all over their faces. Lord Voldemort stood proud, and anyone who looked at him knows they are witnessing history.

Albus Dumbledore, unfortunately, doesn't seem to think history should be experienced in silence.

"Tom, listen to yourself," he says. "Put the child down, he is scared and wants to go with his parents…"

Harry stills at Dumbledore's words. Lily, and now James, stand by the magical barrier, both wearing identical looks of shock and horror on their faces. 

"He is mine." Lord Voldemort says, looking only at them. "He stays with me."

"Tom," Dumbledore's tone is strict as if correcting a student, "you have no claim over that child. Put him down. Stop this insanity."

The late summer sun is right over them, its heat making Voldemort's pale skin tickle. James has a crying Lily in his arms, the mudblood's hands covering her mouth as she stands still enough to be mistaken for a statue. Dumbledore knows nothing about claims. As if that pair of idiots are anything above Lord Voldemort. As if they have any claim greater than his.

"No claim? You think I have no claim?" The Dark Lord laughs, and it's a loud, high pitched sound that extends around the field like the glee of a mad man. And as he says it, an idea takes hold of his mind. It burns inside him along his anger, hatred and resentment. Along with the terrible fear he had felt when he thought Harry lost, or dead in the crossfire. It licks at Voldemort's insides like fiendfire. "No claim? Oh, you blind fool."

Voldemort doesn't let Harry go. Instead, he lowers himself until they are eye to eye. The child lets out a panicked sound, trying to keep his hold to Voldemort´s robes. The Dark Lord presses his lips to Harry's ear.

"Harry," he says, for Harry only, " I'm going to need you to be very brave for me."

Harry looks terrified. He is crying and he can't even seem to properly talk.

"Father… father I don't…"

"It will be just a moment Harry, I promise."

"Fa–"

Lord Voldemort grabs Harry's shoulder, the one with his soulmark, and his eyes burn fire red. The child begins to scream. It's not in pain, not exactly, but Harry can surely feel something moving under his skin and he is scared. Lord Voldemort feels Harry's skin getting hotter and hotter under his palm as the child withers in his arms, trying to run away from the strange sensation. Luckily, Lord Voldemort ́s hold is harder than steel.

"Tom," Dumbledore sounds somewhere between furious and unsure, and it's like music in the Dark Lord's ears. "Stop!"

"Harry!" Lily's scream is louder than his child's, sounding like a wounded animal.

Everyone can see it. Lord Voldemort ́s greedy eyes follow the process, drinking up every second. Harry's soulmark is moving through his skin, climbing up Harry's neck and cheek. Ever so slowly, the mark reaches Harry's forehead and stays there.

A lightning bolt, proud between Harry´s eyes. A soulmark.

"Can you see now, old man?" Voldemort laughs. "Is my claim clear enough for you now?"

Dumbledore stares, all color gone from his face.

"Harry Potter is my soulmate." Lord Voldemort announces, taking Harry's form in his arms. He Gives a sweet caress the mark on Harry's forehead. "And if anyone tries to take him from me again, there will be blood." 

It barely takes a minute, but for the Potters, Harry's screams seem to last for a lifetime. When Voldemort's hand lifts from Harry's skin, Lily and James can only look in horror how Harry, instead of fighting off Lord Voldemort, leans into him, hiding his now scarred face in the wizard's neck. Harry hugs the Dark Lord and sobs as if expecting to be comforted by him.

"Father…" Harry is crying, but he sounds incredibly tired, like he might drift off at any moment. "...can we go home now?"

The Dark Lord smiles, the toothy grin sharp as a knife. He makes sure to look at James and Lily in the eyes as he pets Harry's hair and speaks loud and clear.

"Of course, Harry. We are going home right now."

They disapparate, Lily's scream following behind them.

-000-

Things don't exactly go back to normal, after that. First of all, they change residences.

In the beginning, Harry seems unable to sleep alone, having nightmares and waking up crying. Lord Voldemort tries to make the child understand there is nothing to fear, but ends up letting Harry sneak into his bed to sleep together. The child has no nightmares that the Dark Lord can't chase away.

Harry seems jumpy for a few weeks, a shadow of fear in his eyes whenever he hears loud noises, but after constant reassuring, the child seems to calm down. He doesn't mention his parents that much anymore and makes sure to spend as little time alone as possible. He is probably too frightened by the last memory he has from them, now.

Nagini always by his side, but overall the child seems to be eager to forget about the incident. It's Lord Voldemort who finds himself changing the most.

He is constantly on edge, trying to find out how Dumbledore had breached his wards in Riddle Manor. They should have held longer. His new headquarters, an old abandoned castle in Scotland he had used as a supplies stack, is significantly more protected. And yet, Voldemort doesn't feel much safer. 

He feels like he needs to have Harry constantly checked on, just in case. Even months after the incident, the Dark Lord refuses to leave the country for any meeting. It's not fear, he tells himself. It's just common sense. Although staying in Britain is proving to be not easy, either. 

Lord Voldemort dislikes the Scottish castle, its ugly and crowded. Too close to the sea for his liking, too. It needs constant heating spells even if it´s summer, and while the gardens are big, he can't even enjoy them in peace because this is a base, meaning there are Death Eaters everywhere. Even Harry had taken a look at the place and asked if they had to stay.   
Voldemort had been quick to assure him that this was just a provisional housing, not their home. He might have spoken too quickly. He is not sure he is willing to move anytime soon.

At least there is safety in numbers. Having so many people around means they won´t be attacked. It is also good for keeping the troops' spirits up. His lower-ranked followers are, for the most part, happy to see him so close up, but what captures their attention is the Dark Lord´s son. On the rare occasions they see him, the Death Eaters don´t even bother to hide their curiosity. 

Harry's soulmark stands proud in the center of his forehead, and Voldemort is surprised at how easy it is for both Harry and him to get used to its new placement. 

-000-

Harry lays on the grass, Lord Voldemort sitting by his side, staring at the sky. They are far away from the fortress, in the middle of a forest. Harry points up at a cloud.

"Dog!" he says.

"That is not a dog." Bella laughs. She is with Barty, standing on the grass, keeping guard. Voldemort would prefer if this was only Harry and him, but he can't complain. He won ́t let Harry unsupervised ever again. The child seems to like these two, anyway.

"It is!" Harry sits up, offended. He points back at the sky as if proving his point. "I see It! 

"Is not" Bella answers back with a singing tone. She laughs at Harry´s face. Barty smiles.

"So is!" 

"Is not." Bella sticks his tongue out at Harry, and the child is still young enough to not fully understand teasing when it is used against him.

Harry turns, shaking Voldemort´s shoulder.

"Father!" He says. The Dark Lord smirks up at him. "Tell her."

"Some battles are all yours, Harry." 

The child opens and closes his mouth, near infuriated. Now it is Barty´s turn to laugh, clear across the field. Nagini interrupts Harry´s growing indignation with a comment of her own.

"Little master bad eyes. Will never hunt and feed well. Little lord starves, without Nagini."

The snakes mocking seem too much for Harry. He stands up, face red.

"Father!" Hearing the sheer indignation on his son's tone, Lord Voldemort finally laughs, too. 

-000-

Rodolphus Lestrange has been very careful around his Lord in the last months. He is not sure if the Dark Lord blames him for not finding Harry earlier in the battlefield, and so he mostly approaches Harry whenever he is with his other mentors. The thing is, Lord Voldemort is not angry at him. All his rage is directed and focalized in Albus Dumbledore. 

Dumbledore, who would not be stopped just by the soulmark, the Dark Lord knows. Dumbledore, who might have enough power to take Harry from him. They are not safe in this castle, Lord Voldemort knows.

The Dark Lord is standing in the cold Scottish fall air, supervising some recruits training. His eyes fall to Abraxas's son, Lucius. Should he move in with the Malfoys? Lucius had offered, and he had a child the age of Harry. It might be good for the child, to have someone his age around. And Malfoy Manor had some of the strongest wards in the country, their roots as old and deep as the family itself. Not even Dumbledore would be able to break through them. 

But Lucius, unlike Abraxas, is just hungry for power. He has no real loyalty, only worried about himself. The man is eager to get his hands on Harry, hoping it will buy him the Dark Lord's ear. As if he can be manipulated by Lucius.

There are other options, of course. From the balcony he is in he can see Rabastan Lestrange, walking across the field. The Lestrange home is also old, but he despises Isolda Lestrange. Just thinking about living with her makes his skin crawl. That old hawk. 

The Notts. The Dolohovs. Many old houses would eagerly open his doors for the Dark Lord. Even more would do it if requested. But which one to choose? Should he even stay in Britain? The Dark Lord has many residences of his own, mostly gifted to him, but his paranoia about Dumbledore breaking through again keeps him away from them. Are the hidings good enough? Are the wards strong enough? The ones around Riddle Manor had been raised by the Dark Lord himself, and they fell. As he muses, a movement catches his eye. Severus Snape, talking with Regulus Black.

Severus is a good pupil. He learns quickly, is eager for knowledge, and never complains. He pushes himself harder each time, and teaching him is a most pleasant task. Lord Voldemort had rewarded his information about the prophecy by teaching him how to fly, and the boy had learned in less than a year.

Black is a particular case. He and Barty had been some of the youngest to join the Dark Lord, but, unlike Barty, Regulus had only been marked because of his house name. The boy had entered his ranks ready to impress, a dream in his eyes, but that dream had started to fade in the last years. The Dark Lord has never paid much attention to the boy, he is mostly mediocre in magic and his mother has more control over the Black name than him. Regulus is no longer enamored with the Death Eater life, Lord Voldemort knows. He has tasted war and found himself not much suited for it. The Dark Lord has never seen treason in the boy's mind, but fear and wariness, on the other hand…

Lord Voldemort remembers when he thought about checking on his locket defenses, back when the prophecy had been first made. He had never followed through, but maybe it is time he does, now. If Dumbledore has broken his homewards, he might also be able to find his soul pieces. The ring is safe, at least. It lays on an enchanted box that would appear in his pocket if we wish so. But the grounds it had been buried into reeked of black magic. Maybe Dumbledore would be able to figure out why they did so.

The ring was protected now. The rest of them should be, too. 

Lord Voldemort had hidden all his horcruxes meticulously, each of them reclaiming something the word had first tried to deny him. 

The diary rested in Malfoy Manor, after Abraxas' father had looked at Tom Riddle in disdain and forbidden his son to let the Mudblood stay for the summer. Even though Abraxas already lapped after him like a dog, at the age of sixteen. 

It felt so good, leaving his horcrux in the ancient home. Abraxas' father had fallen sick and died in less than a year. To this day, Lord Voldemort still hopes it was his piece of mudblood soul that rotted the very blood in Cassian Malfoy's veins.

The ring had been hidden in the small entrance of the ruin of a house where Morfin Gaunt had denied him his heritage. Lord Voldemort had buried his soul deep in the ground, vindictive and victorious, after whipping out all that was left of the Riddles. Infecting the pureblood ground of the Gaunts with his second piece soul had felt just as good as filling his magic-hating muggle relatives manor with the darkest magic. Making it his full-time residence had filled him with childhood glee. Poetry. Retribution. 

The locket had been a way to prove his control over his power. There where he had felt most powerless, there where Tom Riddle had once thought he would drown and die, he left his third piece of soul. It rested in a vessel, and it damned and condemned anyone who wanted to hurt it. It was twisted joke, and Lord Voldemort had laughed until his insides hurt when he first thought of the venom trick. His enemies would find their end the same way Tom Riddle once thought he would. Death would come to intruders as memories of a small child, intertwined with the power only a Dark Lord could yield.

But if there was something the Dark Lord had always envied from his fellow pureblood Slytherins was their Gringotts vaults. The bank gave off an aura of mysticism, of belonging, that no amount of power could completely replicate. Anyone who was anyone in the wizarding world had a vault. Even most Mudblood's could end up with one, but not Lord Voldemort. Not the orphans. Not the ones who didn't have money to begin with. Orphans didn't have the right to own anything, he had learned early in life. 

So, Lord Voldemort placed a cup, his fourth piece of soul, in the heart of the wizarding world. And not any vault, like the ones newcomers to the wizarding world could get, no. Lord Voldemort engulfed his very soul among the treasures on the lowest level, there where only the oldest, proudest families ever could. There where it should have been. 

The diadem had been both his most planned and his most unplanned placement. He had always wanted to leave a piece of himself in Hogwarts, but it had been Dumbledore's negative to give him a spot as a teacher for the second time, that had made him decide where the diadem should go. Hogwarts was his, and thinking about how Dumbledore hadn't been able to truly cast Voldemort out of it never failed to make him smile. Lord Voldemort would not be extirpated from his own home.

It had been completely out of spite, a decision made in the spur of the moment, but he didn't regret it. He didn't regret any of them. Every vessel chosen spoke of magic, power, respect. Every placement was a private joke with himself.

The Dark Lord took everything that was owed to him and then some, with every piece of his soul.

Yes, he thinks, following Regulus with his gaze. Maybe he should check on the locket soon. 

The Black Home is not a good place for them, though. Walburga has always been most unpleasant.

Lord Voldemort sighs. He wished he could just go back to Riddle Manor, but the wards were still too weak, and the Order still broke through from time to time. The wards might never recover enough to bring Harry back there.

Regulus Black and Severus Snape continue their walk, and the Dark Lord goes back inside to try and find a suitable new home.

-000-

"Look! Father look!"

The Dark Lord is working when Harry enters his study. Well, the room he had re-furniture to be his study, for the time they were forced to spend in the Scottish castle. The child opens the door without care and Voldemort sighs. He had been able to teach Harry some manners back in Riddle Manor, but Harry doesn't seem to find those rules applicable in their new housing. As if different walls make his antics any less rude.

"The door, Harry," Lord Voldemort points out. 

Harry stops in his tracks, already halfway across the room. It takes him a moment to realize what the Dark Lord is talking about. 

"Oh!" he looks back at the wide-open door. "Sorry."

Harry walks back to the door, knocks on it and, without saying anything or waiting, walks towards the Dark Lord again. Lord Voldemort can't stop the amused smile that paints his face. Nagini, who had entered the room with Harry, curls around his chair. She looks over the desk, wondering where Harry is. 

"Close the door, Harry," Voldemort says, scratching Nagini's huge head like one would a beloved pet. His son makes a face, but doesn ́t protest once the Dark Lord sends him a pointed look.

Harry turns around again, closes the door, and comes back. He has lost that wobbly walk of a child that is growing too fast, his legs now fast and sure in every step. Children grow so quickly you could blink and miss it. When he reaches him, Harry pulls at Lord Voldemort's robes waving a drawing in front of him.

"Look, Father. Nagini and I made a map." The snake bobs her head, pleased. Harry is almost sparkling with pride.

The map in question is a drawing that somehow mergest a visual from the exterior of the house with the inside, and two circles that Voldemort guesses are his and Harry ́s faces. It is… interesting, from a completely artistic point of view, but it is no map. 

"Very nice," he says, anyway. Harry smiles up at him. "But why do you need a map, Harry? I told you, we will be leaving soon."

The child stops smiling. It is such an abrupt movement, sharp and near-instantaneous, that Voldemort tenses. Harry looks down at the drawing, then back up again. He starts playing with the paper, nervous.

"We thought that if the old man comes again… we can find you with the map." Harry's whisper is low and shy, as if he was embarrassed. 

Lord Voldemort finds no words to describe how he feels. He thought Harry had gotten over the incident in Riddle Manor, that the child was no longer scared. Evidently, he had been wrong. The Dark Lord could tell Harry they were safe as many times as he wanted to, that didn ́t mean he could make the worry disappear.

The nightmares might be gone, the wariness in the child's movements dead and buried, but Harry has not forgotten about any of it. Maybe there is nothing Lord Voldemort can actually do to erase the memory. The thought of Dumbledore imprinting himself in Harry's memories infuriates him. Dumbledore was not allowed to be anything to Harry, not even a bad memory. Especially not a source of fear.

He takes Harry and places him on his lap, pushing his Gringotts papers aside. Harry looks up at him, confused.

"Here, Harry," Voldemort says. "Let's make that map together, shall we?"

-000-

Finally, they move to Wales. It is a smaller house than Riddle Manor, but it is old and warded from the second Goblin Rebellion. The Rosier family had gifted it to the Dark Lord, and he had accepted it. 

Harry seems to like it much more than their other residence. Here the gardens are mostly all his, as they used to be in Riddle Manor. Only some of his Death Eaters are allowed behind his wards, and now Lord Voldemort finally has privacy again. The day they move, Harry spends all day running around the house, screaming excitedly about every single room he enters. He drags both the Dark Lord and Nagini along, both amused and scared about a five-year-old child running carelessly around the ancient home of dark wizards. Lord Voldemort runs behind Harry, remembering very clearly the taste for blood curses Desmond Rosier always had.

The three of them end up exhausted, Harry so much so that when Voldemort turns around to set the table for dinner and looks back the child has fallen asleep, curled around Nagini. The Dark Lord carries him to his new room and tucks him in, placing the child's toys around him. Harry is still not over his elephant mania, and so every room of his finds elephants as the center point of decorations, delighting Bella every time she gets to redecorate.

Lord Voldemort dines with Nagini. He has grown fond of the snake as of lately. Nagini speaks well enough and even has some good advice from time to time. Most of the time her antics are simply entertaining. He feeds her, checks the guards one last time, and finally goes to bed. He is reading when a knock interrupts him.

He looks up, but no one crosses the door. There is another knock on his door.

"Come in."

Harry ́s little head appears from behind the door.

"Father… can we go downstairs some more?" He sounds so tired, his eyes heavy and half-lidded. Harry looks like he is fighting sleep and losing the battle.

Lord Voldemort closes his book. He is about to send Harry back to bed, thinking the child needs to be taught some discipline, when he sees the snake. Nagini slithers past Harry and enters the room, greeting Voldemort before curling next to the fireplace. There is only one reason why Nagini would have walked Harry to the Dark Lord's rooms.

"Did you have another nightmare, Harry?" Lord Voldemort thought the nightmares were gone, but he vaguely remembered Lucius saying something his little bastard having trouble sleeping in their holiday Manor in France, too. Maybe the change of scenery had frightened Harry, waking up alone in his new room. He waves at the child, inviting him in. When Harry enters the room he is clutching his stuffed elephant close to his chest.

"No, father. I ́m not scared." His voice is barely a whisper, and it trembles before he finishes talking. Lord Voldemort had not asked if he was scared, so Harry just outed himself. He hugs the toy even closer. "I ́m brave as you said."

The Dark Lord sighs. Children are… literal. Confusing. Even after spending years with Harry, he still forgets how careful he has to be with words. Harry has to learn to distinguish between being brave and being stupid before he grows up. Anyone in this war can see that there are a lot of adult wizards who can not tell apart bravery and suicidal tendencies. Most of them end up dead sooner rather than later. Harry will not be allowed to turn into one of them.

Lord Voldemort sits up and pats the bed at his side. Harry doesn't need to be told twice. The child climbs up the bed and sneaks into Voldemort ́s arms with a happy noise. The Dark Lord discards his book and any chance of finishing it when he finds his lap full with the child and his elephant. Harry rests his little head against Voldemort ́s chest, and Lord Voldemort begins to teach.

"You don't have to be brave all the time, Harry." he runs his fingers through Harry´s messy dark locks. "Merlin knows I'm not. Only fools are never afraid. Fear is sometimes a great advisor. You just need to learn when to listen, and to not let it consume you."

There is a feral part of him that purrs at the closeness between them. Voldemort's arms twist around Harry's frame, hugging him close. To think that once upon a time he hadn´t been able to touch Harry at all. Harry looks up at him, and the Dark Lord bops his little nose with a finger. Harry laughs. That laugh seems to smooth every mood Voldemort even finds himself in.

"But you are never afraid, father." 

There is a pause, and Lord Voldemort thinks his next move. Usually, he would agree with Harry. To everyone else, the Dark Lord knew no fear. He conquered that which scared him and overcame it. None would dare say Lord Voldemort is scared of anything, not even Voldemort himself. The Dark Lord had not felt true fear in decades, not even the prophecy had managed to shake him enough to admit it to be fear. Lord Voldemort went to sleep every night pleased to say he knew no true fear anymore. He takes a look at the child in his arms and a cold feeling runs down his spine. He knows he goes to bed every day lying to himself.

"I was," he admits, touching Harry's cheek with his fingertips. "The day we were attacked, I was very afraid."

"You were?" Harry doesn ́t sound convinced, as if he thought Voldemort was only telling him so to reassure him, but it wasn't true. Lord Voldemort had tasted fear in his life, and he knows the bitterness it leaves on the tongue.

"Yes." It's almost embarrassing, how the word rushes out of the Dark Lord ́s mouth, harsh and raspy. The figure of a man with his arms around Harry's neck, Albus Dumbledore just a step away, is printed in his mind. "I thought I might lose you."

Harry looks at him, leaning into Voldemort's touch until the fingers on his cheek turn into a hand lovingly cupping his face. Harry's eyes shimmer with adoration, and Voldemort knows he has a mirror expression on his face. He can't tell what the child is thinking, but the Dark Lord basks in the warmth of him. Sometimes Harry seems like his own private sun. A sun he was willing to kill for before he was ready to lose. 

Finally, Harry yawns and cuddles closer to Voldemort's chest. 

"I guess even fathers get scared," he says. 

Lord Voldemort feels a smile spread through his face despite himself. He hides the curve of his lips in Harry ́s hair as he presses a kiss on the top of his head.

"More than you think."

They stand in silence for a while, until Harry ́s tired little voice asks,

"Can I sleep here, with you? Just today? You ́re right, I was a bit afraid in my room."

Lord Voldemort smiles again, softer now. Progress.

"Just tonight." He concedes. He can't have Harry getting used to it, but he guesses he can spoil his son once in a while if he wants. He is not that old, after all. He pets Harry's hair again, and the child moves even closer to his chest. 

Lord Voldemort is going to rule the world. Maybe it is time to start acting however he pleased. 

There is another long silence, and just when the Voldemort thinks Harry is finally asleep, he speaks again.

"Can Nagini and Bibi stay too?"

The Dark Lord sighs. 

"... Of course."

-000-

Severus Snape has been fairly agitated for some days now, but today is especially striking. Lord Voldemort stops their training, irritated. 

"Is too much to ask for your attention when I'm teaching, Severus?" 

They are in the front yard of his new house. Harry is not allowed to go there when the Dark Lord is discussing grown-up affairs, meaning when someone who wasn't the Lestranges or Barty is around. No Death Eater has seen Harry since they moved residence, Lord Voldemort guarding him like a dangerous, possessive dragon would its hoard. 

The combination of the harsh tone and icy glare seems to shake Severus out of whatever is bothering him. 

"I–, no, my Lord. I'm sorry." But he doesn't sound sorry. He is still fidgeting with his wand.

-000-

"Getting attached, Bellatrix?"

Lord Voldemort pauses before entering Harry ́s rooms. The doors are half-opened, the thick, dark wood shining with the little moonlight that comes from the windows. Barty ́s voice is amused and light, as if he is making a statement more than actually teasing. He sounds almost fond.

Lord Voldemort is home earlier than expected. He wasn't supposed to finish his business in Germany until morning, and he had left Bella and Barty as babysitters. His naked feet almost brush the door, his snake eyes squint. Barty's tone lacks fear or bite, and Voldemort knows he is talking about Harry.

"Jealous that he likes me more than he does you?" Bella sounds like a dangerous, purring cat. All she receives is a laugh in answer. 

Their bickering is familiar, reminds Lord Voldemort of how they would fight for his attention when they think he is not looking. He never thought he would hear it related to Harry.

The Dark Lord opens the door, and both Death Eaters quickly shut up. Barty is sprawled on the floor, playing with his wand and one of Harry's toys. The elephant floats over his head, running in small circles. Bella is sitting on Harry's bed, his head on her lap. She looks like she had been petting the child's hair. Both Death Eaters look at him like a deer caught in headlights, their displays resembling, dare he say so, affectionate towards the child.

Lord Voldemort smiles. Who would have thought?

-000-

The sea is calm, the breeze gentle on Harry´s hair as the child builds a castle using rocks. The small beach down their Wales hide-out is one of the child's favorite spots in the world, it seems. Barty had been dragged down there at least three times last week alone.

Lord Voldemort sits by the water, his naked feet just gracing the cold water. He basks in the last rays of sun like a cat, while Harry runs around the beach choosing the best stones to act as dolls in his castle. From time to time, the child will run and show Voldemort his latest discovery.

It is a peaceful late afternoon, and the sinking sun reminds the Dark Lord they should return to the house sometime soon. He is about to cut Harry´s fun short when a seagull lands on some rocks near Harry´s castle. The child takes some time to notice the bird, but once he sees it his whole demeanor changes. He goes rigid in anticipation, and Lord Voldemort watches with increasing amusement as Harry stands up and starts walking towards the bird. 

Just as Voldemort opens his mouth to ask what is wrong with him, Harry makes a loud, screeching sound and the seagull flies away, scared.

"Wait, no!" Harry screams after it. "Come back! Come!"

The bird flies away, and Harry follows it until the cold seawater gets up to his knees. He keeps calling after it until the seagull is just a small point in the yellow-orange sky.

"What was that?" Voldemort asks the child.

Harry splashes his feet on the water.

"Barty taught me how to wizze, but it doesn't work." The child pouts. "He did it, and the bird answered him back, but that one just left. Rude bird."

The Dark Lord has been around Harry enough to understand that wizze most likely meant whistle. Barty was very fond of whistling whenever performing simple tasks. Not very polite, nor pureblood-like, trait. Lord Voldemort himself had to grow out of such a lowly habit when he first started to socialize with the higher classes in Hogwarts.

"He taught you?" He can barely hide his amused smile from Harry.

"Yes, look," Harry turns to look at him, the smile returning to his face. He takes his face between his little hands, pushing his lips together. The child stands very still, seemly concentrated in every single part of his face, as Lord Voldemort stares. He tries his best not to laugh.

Then, Harry takes his hands off, and a high, shrieking sound comes from his lips along an audible amount of air. The Dark Lord's brows would be reaching his hairline, if he had either of those. He catches himself just in time to not laugh right in the child's face.

"Oh, yes," Voldemort manages to cough out "I see where the problem seems to be."

"You do?" Harry sounds so innocent that the Dark Lord has to wonder if Barty had really tried to teach the child, or had just messed around with him. Harry has never given any sign of being specially gifted at singing, but the display Lord Voldemort has just witnessed is far beyond just vocal range.

"Yes, it looks like your... form, is a bit lacking." 

"Huh?" Harry stares, not understanding his wording. The way his nose twitches is endearing.

The Dark Lord sighs. Children. 

"You are not doing it right."

In hindsight, that might not have been the wisest answer he could have given. Harry opens his eyes, hurt, right before his whole face twists to anger. He starts getting red.

"Okay!" the child snaps, crossing his arms. "You do it then! I don't care!"

Harry turns around, chin high on the air. He sits down by his castle, his back to Lord Voldemort. There seems to be some history there. Maybe Barty had teased Harry, too. Voldemort just watches as Harry makes a point of giving him the cold shoulder.

"Harry," he starts.

"No, I´m angry now."

Lord Voldemort can help but roll his eyes.

Tom Riddle learned to whistle at the orphanage, when some of the older children made a point of learning. In the beginning, he had not been very interested in it himself, but he ended up caving in thanks to clear, grey eyes. Of course, Tom Riddle had not only learned, but he had set himself to the task of becoming the best whistler out of all the children. Lord Voldemort never did anything just because. He can still remember it, a small child with pale hair and grey eyes asking him to whistle for him. 

Looking at Harry standing in the wind, his lips surely pursed and a frown, he wonders if it is time to make new memories. Before he can talk himself out of it, he pushes the first note out.

It is a soft tune, if a bit sad. After the horcruxes, Lord Voldemort's voice had inevitably changed, yet the little whistle came out just as he remembered. Harry tenses, but doesn't turn around until the Dark Lord pushes out a second note, and the whistle becomes music. He learned it around the time he was visited by Dumbledore for the first time. The song was a simple arrangement of notes that the workers that had fixed the ceiling of the orphanage one summer would sing all the time.

The song dances around the beach, and Harry starts getting closer and closer to the imposing figure of Lord Voldemort. His eyes are big and filled with awe. The man can't help but feel smug.

The last note leaves his lips and harry clings to Voldemort's robes, staring up at him as if he couldn't believe what had just happened. 

"Can you do that again?" Harry´s voice is soft like a whisper. Lord Voldemort smiles, brushing Harry´s hair from his forehead.

"Would you like to learn how to do it, too?" the child's face shines like the sun sinking in the sea. "It could be our secret song."

-000-

The world falls like a fragile, well-crafted house of cards. Surprisingly, Regulus Black is the very first blow of air. 

Lord Voldemort finds Severus Snape at his door in the middle of the night. The man is dripping wet, seemingly unaware of the rain outside. His eyes are bloodshot and he looks pale as a ghost.

"Master," his voice sounds harsh, as if he was choking on the words, "Regulus… the house-elf survived and now he is– I tried to make him change his mind but–"

The Dark Lord is in a nightgown, the fabric long and gathering around his naked feet. His annoyance must be clear in his face because he can feel it boil under his skin. Why would Severus dare to think that interrupting Lord Voldemort's sleep, standing in his own home, was in any way acceptable? If the fool wakes Harry up, Severus Snape will find himself missing his tongue when morning came. Severus pants, looking terrified and feverish. 

"What," Lord Voldemort says, slowly, "do you mean?"

Severus is trembling, his hands grip his black robes. He tries to speak, but nothing comes out of his mouth. His eyes jump from Voldemort's face to the floor, his own hands, and Voldemort's face again.

"Regulus left, saying something about a c-cave, about…"

Something very strange happens to the Dark Lord. There is one lonely shiver that runs down his spine, and there is a sudden, murderous heat coming from his chest.

The cave. The cave he had taken that old house-elf to? His horcrux cave? His locket is all he can think about. Is it protected enough? Save enough?

The feelings burn bright enough that they threaten to consume him 

"You did well, Severus." He says, almost in a trance. "Call Bellatrix, she will take care of Harry. Looks like I need to have a little chat with Black."

The Dark Lord appears inside the cave carrying death with himself, just in time to see the pitiful Regulus Black being served poison down his throat. The disgusting house-elf, the one who had cried and begged like a dog when Lord Voldemort had tested his poison on it, is crying at its master's feet. The elf has a locket in its hands. The sight makes the Dark Lord burn.

Lord Voldemort walks over the water, levitating a few centimeters above it, eyes harsh on the pair of meek creatures on the stone floor. The elf sees him and tries to warn its master, but Regulus has had too much potion. He can barely stand on his knees, much less recognize the man coming towards him. The elf recoils, the locket in its hands almost falling from their grip. Lord Voldemort's death curse hits it just before the creature can take another step back.

Regulus is crawling, begging for water, completely unaware of what is going on around him. His voice echoes around the empty walls of the cave, the sound turning louder and vacant with each hoarse breath. Lord Voldemort grips Regulus viciously, digging his fingers in his hollow cheeks, and forces the man to look at him before he can touch the cursed waters. Regulus lets out a pained whimper before his eyes focus on Lord Voldemort. There is no recognition, the boy's mind wasn't strong enough to resist the potion. It had twisted his sanity, turning Regulus into a whining, empty shell. The Dark Lord felt some pride coming out of all this mess, at least his potion worked perfectly.

He digs his nails on Black's face hard enough to make him cry out. Voldemort is so enraged he can barely speak. He considers a curse, the most gruesome ones he knows coming to him as a suitable punishment before execution, but none of them satisfy him. All of them seem mercy, rather than a punishment.

Of course, Regulus had wanted to leave him. The boy is weak-minded and even less suited for greatness than Voldemort had first thought. What is this, one last shot at being forgiven? A sudden burst of conscience? Has Regulus Black finally find some courage hidden deep in his soul? Maybe he thought this single act would grant him respect from the light. That he would be remembered. 

Wrong time to play the hero. Lord Voldemort´s hold on him tightens. Wrong Lord to betray.

"You," he says, eyes on Black's, "thought you could betray me? You?" His nails finally break the skin and Regulus's blood dirts his fingers. "You will never escape me, Regulus. You will die for your foolishness, but that will not free you from me."

He lets the boy go and he falls to the floor. Regulus is panting, his intakes of breath loud inside the cave, and the Dark Lord ignores him as he summons the locket from the elf's hands. It's a copy of his own, he realizes. He turns it, calculating. Lord Voldemort can hear Regulus moving towards the water, too thirsty to care about anything else. Inside the locket, there is a note. 

The nerve.

He stays to see Regulus's body being dragged to the bottom of the lake, joining his inferi. Protecting the very soul he was planning on destroying for the rest of existence. The very memory of him would disappear, Lord Voldemort promises to the dark waters. This was a better test of his protections than the little experiment he had performed with Black's little house elf. He smashes the fake locket to pieces under his hill. The nerve.

When he goes back home, triumphant yet still furious, it takes a moment to notice something isn't right. Things seem awfully quiet. The windows are dark, and he wonders if Bella is trying to keep Harry asleep. There is no light downstairs, either. 

The fury in his chest seems to flicker in and out of life. There is some other feeling, cold as ice, taking hold of the corners of his infuriated mind. As he gets closer to the house, he notices a strong smell. It is bitter and metallic, feels like a burn at the back of Voldemort's throat when he breathes it in. The Dark Lord grows wary.

"Harry?" He calls. The front door of the house is closed. 

When he opens it, the hinges of the wooden door whining, the smell becomes near unbearable. Nagini is lying in a pool of blood in the middle of the hallway. 

Snape is nowhere to be found.

Neither is Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I had to cut this in chapter in 2 lmao sorry for the cliffhanger, that means we have chap 4 AND an epilogue to go through.  
> 2) This fic will stop being cute next chapter, I´m sure you can all guess why V might not be too happy (re: next time we angsty guys)  
> 3) I will try to get chap4 up by Monday but I´m celebrating my birthday this weekend so I might not have time to beta myself but I will try (thanks to Red btw for being wonderful and going over the first part of this chap! any mistakes remaining are all mine guys lmao)  
> 4) Hope you are like this chap because the plot of this fic really goes out of the rails in the next one oops sorry


	5. The Hanged Man

**Chapter 4**

****

**The Wild Unknown deck.**

**-**

Harry has positively vanished from the face of the earth. No matter where Lord Voldemort searches, who he threatens or bribes, he finds nothing. No one has any information about Snape either, most of his Death Eaters agreeing that Regulus Black seemed to be closest to him in the last few months. But Regulus Black was dead, Lord Voldemort had made sure of it. His only clue lies in the bottom of a cursed lake.

He is less than pleased. The people around him pay dearly for his moods.

Bellatrix had never been summoned to Harry's side, she cries at the end of his crucio. She had not seen the child that night at all. Her last memories of him, Voldemort sees, show a happy Harry being bathed, the child charming and talkative as ever, smiling fondly at Bella.

The Welsh hideout holds silence a graveyard would. It's imposing, daunting. Lord Voldemort can still feel Harry's little head resting on his chest. Harry's laugh in his ear, his small body tucked against him in the middle of the night, warm and safe and his. Now Harry is gone. Either their home had been attacked, again… or Severus had betrayed his master. Lord Voldemort is not sure which possibility enrages him more.

It has been three days since Voldemort held Harry in his arms for the last time. Their soulmark bond seems to be quieted down as if someone was blocking it, yet the Dark Lord can feel it. The bond shakes and lights up with Harry's distress, but Lord Voldemort can't reach Harry through it. It is driving him crazy. His Death Eaters know it. They avoid him, aware that his mood swings are more dangerous to them than to their enemies, as for now.

Even after her torture, Bellatrix seems to feel Voldemort's rage as if it was her own. A surprising amount of his followers do. He finds it almost comical, how his Death Eaters seem to find some new respect for their master after his son had been stolen from him. Pain makes us human, Dumbledore had once said. How ironic, that most of his followers found the Dark Lord's pain and anger something that elevated him, when he had spent his life mocking and exploiting those same feelings on them.

In some way, they all had Harry taking away from them, he supposes. Every opportunity at power Harry represented had been stolen, and even his less devoted Death Eaters seemed angry about it. Good. he had no time for their pity, but their rage could be used, somehow, at some point. How, when, Lord Voldemort doesn't know. He can't think.

He is restless. He can't sleep at night, his head hurts all the time, and he is worried. Terrified. He feels helpless, in a way he hadn't been since he was a pitiful child stuck in an orphanage.

And it's all Dumbledore's fault. He can feel it in his very bones.

-0000-

Lord Voldemort does not stay in the welsh house for too long. Just looking at the walls makes his blood boil in rage.

He sets a new goal for himself: go back to Riddle Manor, and finish wrapping it in so many protection spells not even Merlin himself would be able to step in without the Dark Lord's explicit permission. It is a good hobby, keeps his mind from Harry for a time. Nagini, injured but not dead, that lucky magical snake, is still too weak to roam free. The Dark Lord has her hibernating in his old studio, waiting to see her memories of the event.

A part of him resents being back, but he couldn't just abandon the mansion. This is his home, Harry ́s home. When he gets Harry back they will live here, as they were always supposed to.

He goes over his memories of that night through a pensive, searching for anything that might have been overlooked. After a few days, he finds it. There had been a third, not completely unfamiliar, magical trace in the house the night Severus and Harry had disappeared. A third person had walked into Lord Voldemort's home that night. Had they attacked Severus, taking both him and Harry? Regulus, that halfwit, must have been working for the Order of the Phoenix.

The trace is unclear enough that Voldemort can't recognize it, but it is familiar. Maybe, that third person had been Dumbledore himself.

Just the thought of Dumbledore getting his dirty hands anywhere near Harry is enough to send Lord Voldemort spiraling into hate and disgust.

Harry's end of the soulmark is a quiet buzz at the back of Voldemort's mind. No tracking spells seem to work and no one knows anything about him. The Dark Lord binds the child's room and doesn't dare to enter. He is not sure what he would do if he sees Harry ́s dear possessions covered in dust.

-0000-

His little puppet wins the election, as planned. Magical Britain elects the Dark Lord's candidate as Minister. The moment doesn't feel as important as he had always thought it would. Lord Voldemort has Britain but feels the insides of his chest hollow. There are names he cannot say out loud, rooms in his own home he doesn't dare to step in.

The new Minister of Magic appears on the Daily Prophet with his pathetic smile and a blush, thanking the voters, and if Lord Voldemort was in any spirits he would laugh. The Dark Lord would make them thankful for their effort soon enough. For now, his war is against Dumbledore.

He misses Harry ́s eyes the most.

-0000-

There are not many people who would dare to steal from Lord Voldemort. Dumbledore seems the obvious culprit, but his essence did not match the one in the welsh house. There had not been any traces of a magical fight around the house, either. That only leaves a couple of possibilities left.

The Potters are a safe, rational bet. After their child was taken, they had devoted their lives to the Order of the Phoenix and, like most of its members, gone missing. There had been no announcements of Harry being rescued and his spies at Hogwarts swear on their own lives the child wasn't there. If James and Lily had dared to take Harry, Lord Voldemort will kill them.

Then, there is also one last obvious conclusion.

Lord Voldemort sits in his old study, where the phantom of little Harry still clings to the walls. He takes a sip of his tea, studying the map on his desk. Why, Severus? What happened that made you take my son?

Severus had always been a loyal Death Eater. Always grateful for the power and the knowledge Lord Voldemort had handed him. He is no Barty, but the Dark Lord cherishes him, in his own way. Severus had never struck him as the type to bite the hand that fed him.

Nagini had been attacked, that was for sure. Defending Harry, maybe? But the house had not been trashed, there were no signs of his son fighting back against an abduction. Maybe Severus had sensed danger and left with Harry. The snake could have bought them time to escape? But from what?

He takes a deep breath, bringing the tea back to his lips. There is nothing else he can do, nothing he hasn't tried. Now, he can only trust Severus ́s loyalty, or let himself think he has been betrayed, played. The windows in the house make a cracking sound, as Lord Voldemort lets his magic rage.

If James and Lily Potter have Harry they will die for their insolence. The Dark Lord himself will feed them to the abyss.

-0000-

Harry torments him at night. Lord Voldemort dreams about the child suffering, calling out to him, and when he wakes up his soulmark hurts. It pulses, alive and warm like a living being, from his wrist.

Sometimes he dreams about Harry being happy. Safe and happy in filthy arms that are not his.

After a few months, he is not even sure they are dreams anymore. He is not sure which dream he dreads more.

-0000-

He is attacking Diagon Alley because it seems better than doing nothing while rage consumes him.

His Death Eaters have been restless. They need to be reassured that their movement still has a purpose, even though the Dark Lord feels the whole thing to be directionless, now. Once upon a time he had everything clear, he knew what he wanted to do. Now he can only alternate between rage, grief and an absent itch in his chest. Harry is like a vortex, sucking Voldemort's resolve and ambition, threatening to drown him in something the Dark Lord doesn't understand.

Dumbledore has been hiding like a rat for months now, and Lord Voldemort has finally had enough. Time for some pest control.

His Death Eaters march down Diagon Alley hexing and laughing and, at any other time, the sight would have brought a smile to his lips. Barty stands close to him, frowning and pale. It was strange how much losing Harry had affected him, too. Barty, Bella, even Rodolphus seem more and more distressed as time goes by without any news from Harry. Had they become that attached to the child? Was their anger only because he was Voldemort ́s? For their position being close to Harry gave them, now lost? He is not sure he cares.

Every time he looks into their eyes, the vacant and raw yearn in their eyes raises conflicted emotions in him. Anger at their weakness, mostly. Lord Voldemort wonders if he looks as feral and wounded as them. If he stands visibly weak as they do. It makes his stomach turn.

It doesn't take long for the rats to show up. That does make Lord Voldemort smile.

The Order fights, but there isn't much they can do against them. It's not even the whole Order, just a handful of people. Civilians run, and the Aurors should be on their way, now.

In the middle of the chaos, Lord Voldemort can see the bank of Gringotts. Ah, his stop. He goes up the stairs, hexes and curses barely missing him. Barty and Dolohov stand beside him, his bodyguards. Such loyal beasts. Most purebloods are, for their own reasons. If only Regulus hadn´t turned out to be a treacherous dog.

"Afternoon," he says, a big smile on his face. Somewhere behind him, there is a scream and a green light illuminates the face of the terrified wizard guarding the entrance of the bank. "I wanted to do a consultation. I heard you might have some blood samples from my son."

He could have done this quietly, of course. He just does not care for quiet anymore. If James Potter had opened a chamber for Harry when he was a baby, that means Gringotts should have some blood samples from the child. Blood could be used in a lot of very advanced tracking spells, but it had to be a great amount of it. Lord Voldemort has decided he is desperate enough to give it a try anyway. The wizard all but nods and steps out of their way. Dolohov bares his teeth at him in a cruel smile and Barty barks out a laugh.

As they are about to enter the bank, Voldemort stops. There is familiar magic in the air, something he did not think he would feel ever again.

"Stop! Damnit, stop!" A scream cuts through the air, high and furious. A woman.

The Dark Lord turns around, slowly, and sees someone he had completely forgotten about. A woman of dark skin, her hair tightly braided around her head. She stands, tall and proud at the bottom of the bank ́s stairs, but alone. Dorcas Meadowes.

"Finally found you, you bloody psycho." She spats the words with venom. Tasteless.

Lord Voldemort raises his hand, stopping Bella just in time. Bellatrix recoils, the death curse still on her lips, and lets Meadowes take two steps up the stairs. With a nod, Bellatrix disappears in the crowd fighting again. Some people —members of the Order, for sure—  
call out to Meadowes, asking the woman to come back, to not be stupid. The Dark Lord can't help but agree with them. He is not in the mood to deal with her.

Just looking at her face brings back memories of Harry. It is painful, how the void in his chest aches on the edges. With the pain, anger raises inside him too. Just a flicker, but dangerous enough to ignite him whole.

"Pleased to see you again too, Meadowes." Voldemort doesn't smile. Barty, at his side, plays with the wand in his hands. He doesn't know who Meadowes is, but Barty doesn't seem to like how close she is getting to the Dark Lord. Or how she is speaking to him.

"Oh no, no." Meadowes has a wolfish smile, and her eyes shine with fury. "You don't get to talk to me like that after what you did to me. You crazy son of a bitch!"

"... And with a whole new set of memories too," Voldemort says, his expression turning even darker. It looks like Dumbledore has access to a bigger set of information than previously thought. "Fascinating."

How had Dumbledore even broken the spell? It doesn't matter now, not really, but still… Dumbledore seemed full of interesting new spells. First the power to break through the wards in Riddle Manor, now this.

How much does Meadowes know about Harry and Voldemort? She has seen them interact, that could be quite a lot. What will Dumbledore do with that information? How long has Meadowes been un-hexed? The Dark Lord tries to go over anything important he might have let slip in front of the witch, but he had spent too much time around her to remember every detail. Lord Voldemort tilts his head, annoyed. He will have to trust his old self had been wise with his words.

At his dismissiveness, Meadowes closes her fists around her wand. Dolohov steps beside Lord Voldemort, wand ready. It's like something explodes inside the witch.

"Fascinating?" her voice trembles. "That's all you have to say? After all you did to me, that's all you have to say."

Was she waiting for an apology? She looks perfectly alright to Lord Voldemort, no harm had come her way. He had even let her live, knowing Harry had some fondness for her old caretaker.

"I would say it was a pleasure meeting you, but you weren't exactly yourself at the time," he says not-chantant. "Sadly, I can't say I like you any better now."

The wizard behind Lord Voldemort, the one who had been guarding Gringotts´s doors tries to sneak around and escape, but Barty is quick and grabs him by the neck. With a wand pressing to his chest, the wizard whimpers and begs to be released. Barty just smiles.

Meadowes doesn't seem to notice anything, all her attention is on Lord Voldemort. With all this rage, the memories have to be fresh on her mind. Dumbledore must have unlocked them recently, because Meadowes does not strike him as the type to patiently wait for revenge. She is a woman of action, he had seen as much while she was hexed. At least that is reassuring. Whatever Dumbledore knows, he is only now starting to unravel.

"You are a monster," she says.

"Yet you are completely unharmed," he answers, vaguely pointing at her. "Not a favor I grant to just anyone. Ask the Longbottoms."

She doesn't rise to his challenge, doesn't fall into his trap. Her anger is still controlled, focused. Somewhat admirable, the Dark Lord supposes.

"You enslaved me," she hisses. "Your followers murdered my parents and my sister. Then, my friends. You destroyed the village I grew up in, started a movement to end half the population. And then you made me a little doll so you could play pretend. You tried to be a little family with some other people's child. You are a psychopath."

If either Barty or Dolohov find her words strange, they don't let it show. Voldemort, on the other hand, can feel his features turn sawer and cruel as she speaks. But Meadowes seems unable to stop talking now that she has started. She takes another step up the stairs.

"I hate children, you know?" She tilts her head and laughs now, the anger and hatred clear in the act. "But you had me dancing at that child's every whim, like a dog."

Voldemort grinds his teeth. He gives Barty a small head nod.

"Find the vials," he says, sharing a glance between both him and Dolohov. "I will handle this."

Barty seems unsure, but finally, both Death Eaters run into the bank. Lord Voldemort takes out his wand.

"I came home and couldn't remember any of it. Not a single thing," Meadowes continues. She sees him taking out his wand and stares him down. "But I knew something was wrong. I kept getting these nightmares of being trapped inside a house, for months. They were horrible, you know? My whole body hurt, I thought I might be going crazy."

The Dark Lord valances the wand on his fingers. He is getting annoyed with her, trying to talk about being hurt. She knows nothing about pain. It looks like Lord Voldemort will have to instruct her.

"And then one day the child was gone," she sounds so happy, says it with such ease, Voldemort almost curses her right there. "The dreams got worse and worse until finally, Dumbledore stepped in. I vomited all over the floor when I started remembering. You made me cook for you, call you my Lord like one of your deranged followers. I had never felt as dirty in my life."

"Amusing, considering the company you keep."

Meadowes bares his teeth, her smile still threatening. She doesn't seem to appreciate mudblood jokes as she used to do when she was cursed. Pity.

"I remember every single time you touched me, an arm or a shoulder, and it makes me sick. I can imagine little Harry feels something similar, the poor kid."

The Crucio misses her by just an inch. She steps out of its way like she had been waiting for it.

"You will not speak about what you do not understand." Lord Voldemort says. Soon, there is another spark of red light at the tip of his wand.

"You are delusional, or maybe just really stupid, if you think that child loves you." Meadowes continues. Her voice is even higher now, trembling with pleasure at every angered reaction Voldemort gives her. It angers him even more. "It doesn't matter if you take him back, once he grows up he will see you as you are. And he will feel ten times as disgusted as I do now. That is amusing."

They circle each other. Meadowes throws a spell at him, but Voldemort quickly rejects it. It lands on a house, and the glass of the windows turning to dust.

"After all you have done to him," Meadowes keeps talking, jumping out of another curse ́s way like a trained ballerina, "he will be the first in line, cheering as Dumbledore sticks your head on a spear. And I might not be there to see it, but I am already proud of him."

Another curse strikes against his shield, so hard it threatens to throw him off his feet. His Death Eaters turn around, some of them moving towards him to help, but Lord Voldemort stops them all with a hand up in the air.

"She is mine," he just says. His voice is chilling and harsh and he means it. He will kill Meadowes with his own hands.

Meadowes just laughs out loud, an edge of craziness in her voice. She throws another curse, and then another, and she is too quick for Voldemort to avoid a third cutting hex that lands on his arm. She roars, victorious.

"That kid doesn't love you." she spats. "Do you know who he loves? His mother and his father—  
"

She doesn't get to end the sentence, for Voldemort summons a statute and smashes it on her. She is quick enough to raise a shield, but still crashes against the bank ́s wall like a broken doll.  
Lord Voldemort stands up, taking a quick look at his injured arm. Nothing he can't take care of, but the sight of blood drives him crazy. She distracted him, made him bleed...

How dare.

"I am his father." The statement leaves his lips before he can even think twice about it. It is a reflex, like taking Harry out of harm's way or kissing him goodnight. He doesn't have time to even think it over before he has already done it.

Meadowes doesn't stand up, but she crawls from under the rock, her shield still up. She is holding her side as if injured. Lord Voldemort hopes it is more than just a couple of broken ribs. She looks up Voldemort with a split lip and a murderous sneer.

"No, you are not." Voldemort feels near feral hearing her speak. "You are a crazy, delusional murderer, who crept on a child for who knows how long."

Voldemort raises his wand again, ready to strike one final blow.

"He was so happy to see me. He couldn't wait to get away from you."

… What?

The sentence freezes him over. He must have said so out loud, for Meadowes smiles again as if she has won something.

"Why do you think there was hardly any resistance?" Her words are venom on Lord Voldemort ́s ears. "I asked him to come with me, to see his mummy and daddy. And thanks to you and your psychotic family act, he trusted me! He kept hugging me, telling me how much he missed me, and came with me."

That can ́t be right. Harry would never leave him, not because he wanted to. They had talked about what would happen if he went to his parents. There was no way Harry just... left.

"You are lying."

"Lying?" Meadowes finally stands up, raising her wand as if she has any chance against Lord Voldemort. "Listen up Dark Lord. That child will grow up and kill you. And there is nothing you can do about it. No amount of brainwashing is going to change your destiny."

"I am his soulmate," he says, half-hearted. Lord Voldemort is still trying to process the part of Harry leaving, abandoning him. Nagini had been half-dead, how could Harry ever be okay with that? He adored that snake.

Maybe he had been fooled by more than just Regulus. After all, Lord Voldemort had thought Harry was happy with him. Maybe the child had even cheered when the snake was struck down.

No, he tells himself. Harry doesn't have a deceptive bone in his body.

"Sure, soul marked downfalls," the witch continues. "And not even for long."

"What do you mean?"

Meadowes smiles, teeth stained with blood.

"Oh don't worry. You will find out soon enough." She looks somewhere behind Lord Voldemort, and her eyes shine, joyful. "I ́m just here to distract you, anyway."

Bellatrix Lestrange appears just in time, stepping in front of a blood curse, shield up, right before it can hit Lord Voldemort. Sirius Black, just at the other end of the stairs like the sneaking rat he is, screams.

Lord Voldemort retreats as Diagon Alley gets filled by the Order and Aurors, but takes a little present with him.

-0000-

Dorcas Meadowes is a good prisoner. She has a strong mind, making her torture sessions fun. They force Voldemort to get creative.

He sees the moment Harry leaves the house, in Meadowes memories. He sees Meadowes getting into his home, entering Harry´s room. He sees the child hug her, how his eyes shine when she tells him she will get them to see his parents.

He also sees how Harry talks about asking Voldemort´s permission. It is half-hearted at best, the child's excitement to see his parents after almost a year away from them obvious in his face. Lord Voldemort sees Meadowes promising they will, later. Harry walks out of the house by his own foot, holding Meadowes´s hand.

Thank grateful, dedicated Snape for it, Lord Voldemort thinks. Even his own followers betray him.

He sees Severus Snape strike Nagini down when the snakes gets aggressive, finding out that Snape is trying to get Harry out of the house. She had been so confused, knowing Snape´s scent to be trustworthy yet understanding he was taking Harry away. He sees the traitor rat opening the wards for Meadowes, leading her to Harry´s room.

In the end, Meadowes sings like a bird. She doesn't know much about where Harry is, but she has something better. It's right there, almost close enough to touch, but Dumbledore's magic seems to keep it far from reach.

No matter. Lord Voldemort will find out. Now, he has a snake to catch.

-0000-

Sometimes, at night, Meadowes words keep him awake. Destiny. Fate. Lord Voldemort had been so ready to accept his own perceived form of fate that he had decided to ignore destiny. He had thought it killed, once he chose to accept Harry as his own. But maybe the witch had been right. Living without Harry felt cold and colorless.

Harry could be his downfall, after all.

-0000-

Nagini wakes, finally. The snake is confused and still injured, but alive.

It brings Lord Voldemort much more comfort than he ever thought it would.

-0000-

Bellatrix has grown vicious. It is unclear what upsets her more, the fact that Harry is gone, or that it was Severus who took him. Her attacks get out of control easily, and Voldemort should think about moving her out of the front lines for a while, but he can ́t. He is not sure he can trust anyone anymore. Bellatrix is the closest thing he has to someone trustworthy.

Can he trust her, though? Isn't she secretly glad Harry is gone? Lord Voldemort wouldn't know, seeing how Severus Snape had managed to lie to him even when Voldemort looked inside his head almost every week. The Dark Lord had been fooled for months, or so he had seen in Meadowes´ mind. If he hadn't caught Severus´ treachery Bellatrix could be lying to him, too. Anyone could be.

Merlin, he was getting paranoid.

It had been a brilliant move, Harry ́s abduction. But of course it had been, they had used Voldemort´s own method. Create a distraction, use a mole to get all the information necessary, and then get some familiar face to lure Harry from the warded house. Every time Lord Voldemort thinks about it it makes his skin crawl. He had been stupid enough to fall for his own trap.

Only for the cunning behind it, Lord Voldemort would not let Severus fall into Bella's hands. After all, Nagini has been asking for his head.

-0000-

Dumbledore has Harry. The Potters have Harry. Meadowes knows as much, even if she has not seen the boy since that fatal night.

Voldemort starts targeting the papers, making the feud public. He makes sure Britain knows Lord Voldemort will kill if Harry is not returned to him.

The public is terrified, most of them demanding Voldemort be given what he wants. Dumbledore stays in his castle in Scotland, teaching and writing polite articles about how Voldemort is losing his mind and he knows nothing about Harry. Liar.

-0000-

He has letters from Harry, in Riddle Manor. The house-elves bring them after they are done cleaning the welsh house. Rodolphus had been diligent in teaching the child how to write, and Harry had started to write letters to almost everyone. There were lots for Lord Voldemort, which he had already seen, of course. Some of them are for the Death Eaters Harry was fond of, and the child even wrote some to his toys. Nagini got herself some, although she wasn't able to read them. They are not very well written, or especially enlightened, but Voldemort had treasured them because they were Harry´s.

There is one that stands out, though. One he had never seen before. The house-elves found it under his son´s bed, tucked away and not very well hidden.  
A letter Harry had written for his parents.

Lord Voldemort crashes the letter between his fingers and tosses it into the fireplace without reading it. He can't bear to know what it says. The Dark Lord feels paper-thin weak when it comes to Harry. One wrong word and he will shatter, tear and burn. Just one wrong word.

What if that letter confirmed his fears of Harry being unhappy with him?

It's like walking on the edge of insanity, wondering and overthinking. Is Meadowes right? Is this what the prophecy meant? It feels like it. Each day that goes by, Lord Voldemort feels whatever restrain he used to have surrendered to anger and pain. He is unpredictable, even to himself.

None of his tries with blood magic have been successful. All they told him was that Harry was still in Britain, but he already knew that. He doesn´t sense anything but that, through their bond.

Why give him a soulmate after all this time, if fate was just going to rip Harry away from him?  
He used to say he didn't need anyone, no soulmate, no companionship, no son. Now, Voldemort feels like he had been living in the darkest of nights, the coldest of winters, until Harry.

The child had grown inside him like an illness, and now Lord Voldemort is infected. It was a sweet sickness, so much so he hadn't noticed how deep into him Harry had gotten until he had been extirpated. The child had left behind a wound, and now it stood open and suppurating inside Lord Voldemort ́s ribcage.

But the Dark Lord has survived festered wounds before. He lets the letter burn, and tells himself it doesn't matter what it said.

-0000-

The Dark Lord is in Muggle London. He has given his last warning, but Harry is still held somewhere Voldemort can't reach. Dumbledore writes his international articles, hides in his beloved Hogwarts, taunts the dark side with false ignorance, and the Dark Lord has had enough.

He is standing at the very top of the Big Ben, his dark robes dancing in the wind. It is a usual winter morning, cloudy and cold. It looks like it's going to rain.

Lord Voldemort can feel the rage, the grief inside of him. They battle inside his chest like rabid dogs, trying to tear each other apart. Before Harry, he had never felt like this. It was as if Harry had unlocked something inside him, something that now threatened to overcome Lord Voldemort and leave him to die. Sometimes, when it all becomes too much, he hates Harry. Hates that he is forced to feel like this because of him, hates that he ever became this weak. Hates, hates, hates that Harry left by his own foot.

Meadowes memory replays behind his eyelids every night. It tortures him. Consumes him.

He wonders if his son is feeling happy and safe, away from him. If Lord Voldemort has been as easy to forget as Meadowes had suggested.

… Maybe he has. Maybe fate had not gifted him Harry, but cursed him with the child. Prophecies are treacherous things. Surely, the safer course of action would have been killing the child all those years ago. Just take his wand out, cast the killing curse, be done with it.

The killing curse is painless, after all. Harry wouldn't have felt any pain. Perhaps, if Voldemort had not visited Harry before that very moment, if his curiosity hadn't taken the best of him, again, he would have meant the curse. With Harry dead, Voldemort would not have to deal with whatever was going on inside of him right now. He should have listened to the whole prophecy, try and prevent all of this.

If he tried now, the Dark Lord knows the green curse would not affect Harry at all. He can't kill him. Can't even stand the thought of his death.

A real downfall, Lord Voldemort cackles out loud. The wind carries the sound far away from him.

No matter. Even if Harry doesn't wish to come back —he does, Lord Voldemort tells himself, you saw the memory, he does— he doesn't have a choice. The Dark Lord wants Harry with him, and what Lord Voldemort wants, Lord Voldemort gets. Even if he has to lock Harry atop of a tower and seal it forever.

The Dark Lord doesn't care who he drags to hell to achieve his goals. Especially not some muggles, or the Statute of Secrecy. Dumbledore had been warned. Now, it is showtime. Let the magical community all around the globe see the lengths Lord Voldemort was willing to go. Let them witness real power, for once in their lives. Let Dumbledore deal with all the political backlash of angering Lord Voldemort. See how the Order handles it, now that the Dark Lord has control over the Ministry and the press.

See how Dumbledore can keep Harry hidden, when the wizarding community everywhere demanded the child to be offered, for peace.

He starts casting his spell, activating the runes he has been placing for weeks all over the old clock. It takes a while, but one by one they light up, hidden enough so passersby don't notice anything. Soon, everything is in place. Tom Riddle had always loved rune work.

With one last breath, Lord Voldemort sends a message that will resonate through the whole Ministry of Magic for at least an hour.

"Give my son back." He tells the wind. The message flies around him, tickling his ankles and lightly echoing on his ears, and leaves. The tall figure of Lord Voldemort apparates out of sight.

The clock stills a second, and it explodes. From base to top.

He destroys the Big Ben and his Death Eaters head down to the Parliament. He wants everyone to see.

-0000-

Snape is still missing. Meadowes is near breaking point, Bellatrix is going at her just a bit too hard in the last days. They are getting closer to something big, to some secret, that is for sure.

It is a calm, quiet night, and Lord Voldemort is sipping some tea before bed. The recent newspapers greet him with news of his latest attacks. The entire Obliviator department at the Ministry had a three-page long article about the London incident in the Daily Prophet. Gossip tabloids reported on the news, too. The European wizard councils want Lord Voldemort to sit down and talk with Albus Dumbledore, instead of blowing up muggle monuments. They even offer to serve as a middle ground between the two of them. He has been invited to Vienna in two weeks. The whole thing is just laughable.

He does not want to go. But if Dumbledore doesn't show up, which he might not do, looking like the one who wanted peace would make the general public sympathetic to his case. That was something old Lord Voldemort would think of doing. Try and justify your attacks as sympathetic reactions to injustice, and everyone would want to understand it. Appeal to the basic needs of revenge, of retribution, and they will want to understand.

Lord Voldemort lets out a laugh. As if he would settle for talking, after all this time. Harry has been missing for seven months now. Lord Voldemort had promised blood, and he will have it. He will hang both Severus and Dumbledore´s heads in his office.

His thoughts run wild, blood and vengeance in every one of them. Those sweet thoughts make the sudden, excruciating pain all the more unbearable.

The aching starts on his wrist, light before it runs through him like fire. Lord Voldemort screams, and his whole arm feels as if it was being forced on hot metal. He can feel his skin burn, smells it even. The Dark Lord writhes, falling from her chair. His hot tea spills all over him, but he doesn't even notice it. For a single moment, he hears Harry scream, too. Lily Potter's face flashes behind his eyelids, her eyes filled with tears and screaming stop. Then, everything is gone.

The Dark Lord lays face down on the floor, his whole body trembling. He feels like he can't breathe, his right arm still sending agonizing shocks through is nerves. When he turns his head to inspect it, still dizzy and near vomiting with pain, he sees the soulmark. The scar is angry red and pulsing.

-0000-

That same night, Voldemort himself steps into Meadowes interrogatories. He cares not for her sanity or keeping her alive. His Death Eaters have orders, but they don't ́t apply to Lord Voldemort. He tears through her mind, ripping and scratching until he finds it. The big secret, the great mystery.

She knows where Snape is. She also knows what Dumbledore has been trying to do for months. Lord Voldemort had not noticed it, how the soulmark had started to become more and more quiet with time, but it now aches. Alive and vengeful.

Dumbledore is trying to erase Harry ́s soulmark.

Dorcas Meadowes dies in her cell, her brain too damaged to remember how to breathe.

-0000-

"Was it worth it?" Severus Snape ́s body hits the ground of Riddle Manor´s dungeons with an audible sound. His dark robes are dirty and torn. Lord Voldemort stands over him, wand still up. "Did you think your Mudblood would fall into your arms if you just give her my son back? Is that what you thought, you pathetic excuse of a man?"

Severus whimpers, not even trying to stand up anymore. He has given up for some time now. They both know there is no escape. Severus dies tonight. All he can do is try and not anger Lord Voldemort, try and make his passing as painless as possible. Lord Voldemort wonders if they had granted Wormtail the same blessing.

The rat animagus had been out of the country for months. Snape's memories revealed how he had been chased down by the order, once Severus had revealed him as the spy that had practically walked Lord Voldemort to the Potters' child. He had no lost love for Peter Pettigrew, but he did feel rather vindictive tonight. He may include Peter in his vengeance over the sneaky man crying on his floor. No one could say Lord Voldemort was not benevolent.

"And tricking poor Regulus into betraying me, without knowing where he was getting into," he continues, circling Severus form. "What was that, payback for Black? Did you think getting his brother killed would make him suffer? And I thought you clever."

The Dark Lord takes a handful of Severus´s hair. When their eyes meet, Snape´s are scared but hard. Lord Voldemort doesn't know if Severus knows anything about horcruxes, or if Regulus worked that part all on his own, but they have all night. If Snape knows, Lord Voldemort will find out, as he did with Meadowes.

"Tell me, Severus," he hisses into Snape ́s face, "was she as happy as you hoped? Did her eyes fall on you, immediately after she saw Harry, and forgot all about her husband? Were you her hero, Severus? Did that give you everything you wanted?"

Snape's face twists in pain, because of course not. Lord Voldemort can see it all in his head, how Severus had seen Lily Potter, crying and screaming for her child, when the Order broke through Riddle Manor ́s wards. He can see the plan starting to gain form, befriending Black and pushing him to investigate what the Dark Lord had done to his pathetic house elf.

"No, of course it didn't. You couldn't care less about the child. The only thing on your mind was how her mother would receive you."

Severus' eyes fall to the ground. Is he scared? Ashamed? Trying to hide more information? The man felt like he was doing a good thing when he took Harry. Voldemort can see. All of these sudden, little heroes in his ranks.

Lord Voldemort had trusted this man. He had opened his home to him, taught him and guided him until he was someone the dark side could be proud of. He gave him everything. He practically made him. The Dark Lord took this child and helped him to overcome his previous shell, and this is all he gets for his troubles.

"She will never allow you near her Severus, not as you yearn for her to. She despises everything you stand for. As do I, now."

He yanks Snape´s head back up, harsh and unforgiving. There is venom in Lord Voldemort's voice. Hate in his eyes. Murder in his very smell.

"You were cherished here, Severus. Do you think you are brave enough to die for her? That the act will amount to something?" Severus chooses to hold Voldemort's gaze. What, at any other time, would have earned him some respect from his Lord now only enrages him. Voldemort stiffs his grip on Snape's hair. "Well, you will die, dear pupil. But you will be no martyr."

The Dark Lord makes sure Severus Snape is looking deep into his eyes before he makes him a promise.

"I will personally make sure she hates the very memory of you, before I kill her too."

-0000-

Snape's mind is an endless pool of information, but not for what Lord Voldemort needs him. Harry ́s location is under a Fidelius. He seems to not have seen the child since the night of the abduction, all his memories are of Lily Potter.

Lily, crying because Harry might be dead. Lily, broken after seeing her son again. Enraged, murderous, sad.

Another dead end, there. Still, not all hope is lost. Dumbledore had held quite a few reunions with Snape.

Dumbledore is becoming desperate. He wants to remove Harry's soulmark before Voldemort can attack the muggle world again. He has the Councils around Europe breathing down his neck, and the Statute of Secrecy hanging from the thinnest of threads, but he won't give Harry back. Dumbledore thinks removing the child ́s soulmark could kill Lord Voldemort, but not Harry. It is all about the prophecy. The complete prophecy, he learns.

Neither can live while the other survives. And Albus Dumbledore is set on making sure Harry survives.

Snape believes in the prophecy, but Lord Voldemort doesn't care. No prophecy is worth trying to take Voldemort's soulmate away from him. He is enraged.

Of course, Dumbledore sees it as the lesser evil. Harry might grow without a soulmate, but some people do, too. He wouldn't be tied to a murdered, he had told James and Lily. Harry could stop the war, be free from whatever obsession the Dark lord could influence through the soulbond. Lily and James had ended up accepting, of course. They were young and scared, in the middle of a war, and their child was the focal point of negotiations with a murderer. Half of Europe was screaming at them to let the child go. Fools.

If Severus ́ mind is to be trusted, Harry had been a little child experiment for the last few months, but nothing seemed to work. Dumbledore seems sure about his plan, convinced that he could erase Harry´s soulmark. Lord Voldemort himself didn't know if that such a thing was possible, but it surely is not easy. But Dumbledore is convinced that, at the very least, it will make Voldemort weaker. That is worth a try.

So, with nothing to lose, Dumbledore plans on going to the only man that had ever removed his soulmark before. Grindelwald.

The Dark Lord is waiting for him.

Nurmengard is a cold, wet ruin of a castle. But it brings so much joy to Lord Voldemort he feels as if he is floating. The moment they had put a step into the prison, Voldemort had felt his connection with Harry come alive, which could only mean one thing. Harry is here.

Lord Voldemort walks around Nummergard, following the thread connecting him to Harry as in a trance. Behind him, a full dozed of Death Eaters, Rodolphus right beside him. They move quietly, in the shadows. Tonight, they go home with Lord Voldemort's son.

Voldemort follows the string, the promise of Harry acting like a siren call. They leave behind the first two floors, which are empty and cold, and the thoughts on most of his followers' minds circle around leaving as soon as possible.

As they climb higher and higher to the beacon that is Harry, they kill the few guards and noisy prisoners in the castle. When they move, Death walks right with them. Finally, they turn a corner and Voldemort breathes for the first time in what might as well be years. Harry, right inside one of the cells. Voldemort steps forward, without thinking. The hole in his chest pulses, but for once it doesn't hurt. He opens the cell door with just a hand gesture.

Harry. Sitting in the middle of a pentagon, with candles all around him, his son quietly sobs.

Harry.

He looks alright. He is not dirty, nor thin, and doesn't seem harmed in any way. The child is just crying, inconsolable, hugging his knees.

"My Lord…" Rodolphus says. His voice bounces around the empty room, echoing through the hallways. Lord Voldemort ignores him.

"Harry..." the name sounds almost like a prayer, tentative and filled with hope. The Dark Lord can't contain himself and repeats it, louder. "Harry."

The child looks up, his little face red with tears. When he sees Lord Voldemort, his eyes and mouth open, disbelieving. Their eyes meet, and the soulmark burns, vicious and triumphant. It's not painful at all, unlike last time Voldemort had felt it. The burn is now just warm, heating him from the inside like morning daylight after a cold night. Like a puzzle piece, falling into place. Lord Voldemort takes another step towards Harry, and wonders if this kind of feeling is the one that makes you tear up in relief. Harry´s eyes fill with heavy tears, and the child looks so longing the Dark Lord's arms ache.

"My Lord, wait!"

The warning comes too late. Lord Voldemort steps into the pentagon and activates the trap. Under his feet, an intricate set of arithmancy sketches light up, and Harry's eyes widen as the room begins to shake. The walls tremble, and then start to crack. In horror, Voldemort realizes the ceiling is going to fall on their heads.

"Everyone, shield!" Rodolphus screams. "Shield!"

Voldemort raised his wand casting a protection spell, pushing the ceiling back into place. Behind him, there are screams and movement, and one of his Death Eaters even collides with him. It looks like the whole section of the tower they are in is coming down. He pushes his magic harder against the ceiling, his arms screaming at the effort. He continues pushing until he finds a barrier. Dumbledore´s magic tickles his skin. The man had set up a magical barrier, and Lord Voldemort´s fury spikes up.

He has been tricked. Dumbledore is not here, and surely neither is Grindelwald. This is just a trap, a plot to bury Lord Voldemort under the rotten stones of some other Dark Lord ́s broken dream. Fitting, in a sense. Dumbledore had always thought himself oh so clever, so above Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort and any name the child in the orphanage ever used. It´s infuriating, it had always been. So Voldemort pushes and pushes against the barrier, throwing on his spell every little feeling he has felt over these months. Everything he had felt for years and years.

He pushes with loneliness and dread. With the anxiety and the doubts and the pain, the terrifying, paralyzing pain. He takes all the anger and envy and hatred and uses it as if he was punishing someone. He throws the whole in his chest open and vomits every single emotion he never could feel on to Dumbledore's magic.

You do not love that child, Tom, Dumbledore had once written in one of his long lists of articles. Well, if this is not love he doesn't care for what real love is supposed to be. This feeling hurts and overcomes and Lord Voldemort hates it just as much as he cherishes it, adores it and craves it. He presses so hard he feels the barrier starting to break.

He gives a joyful scream until he hears a loud sound in front of him.

The Dark Lord sees the rock crack under his child, and can ́t stop it. For a second, so caught up with the idea of Harry, he had forgotten Harry was here too. He had fallen into his mind, his war, and forgotten Harry is here too.

Harry screams, the stone under his feet giving up as he tries to crawl away from it. Voldemort screams too, wanting to take him in his arms, but he can ́t break his spell or they will all die. The remains of the magic Voldemort had just been working against float in the air as tiny golden specks.

The barrier Dumbledore had set up was not to crush Voldemort or his followers. It was a protective spell, around Harry. And Lord Voldemort, in his rage and the false sense of threat, had broken it.

Dread, stronger than any feeling Lord Voldemort has ever known, expands inside him.

The rock breaks, gives in. With a scream, Harry falls.

Something breaks inside of Lord Voldemort, and his magic flies out. It hugs the entire tower, makes it glow in a blue haze.

After, when the tower is firm again, Lord Voldemort takes Harry's body from the second floor, where the child landed. One of his legs is twisted, and there is blood in his hair, but he breathes. Before he can even realize what he is doing, the Dark Lord places a sleeping spell on him.

He didn't even get to hear Harry ́s voice.

-0000-

Harry lies in his bed, barely breathing, Nagini always by his side. The snake has become vicious, hissing and threatening anyone who dares to approach Harry's bed. Lord Voldemort sees himself in her.

It had been a trap. Snape, the prison, Harry…

He can't trust anyone. Not his followers, Severus had proven so, but not even himself. The child has been bathed and changed into clean clothes, but the image of Harry's young face covered in blood is stuck in Voldemort's brain. Harry had been injured because of him. Because the Dark Lord had lost control trying to win a fake battle against Dumbledore, and Harry had been caught in the middle of it. If Voldemort had paid more attention, if he hadn't been so desperate, he would have immediately noticed the runes. Dumbledore had counted on Voldemort being too overwhelmed by Harry to notice, and the Dark Lord had played right into his game. Now, Rodolphus is dead.

Had James and Lily agreed to this? Probably not. It was a dangerous plan, even with the protections Dumbledore had raised around Harry. Still, if Lord Voldemort had been half rational at the moment, he would have sensed that Dumbledore ́s spell meant to protect. In the end, it all came back to Voldemort losing control.

Harry had been used against him. And he will be, again and again, until one of the sides kills the child, either on accident or on purpose. Harry is already known internationally, after the very public conflict between Voldemort and Dumbledore. So, now, Lord Voldemort has enemies from other countries to worry about, too. Harry is not just a child anymore, he is the son of the Dark Lord of Britain. One the Lord Voldemort has already proven to be willing to do anything to get back. Such a perfect target, in a war.

There are too many things happening, too many open fronts. The imminent fall of the Statute of Secrecy, the war with the Order, the wizarding governments of Europe starting to mobilize against him. Right now, the Dark Lord cannot protect Harry any more than the Potters could. There is no place safe enough in this world for Lord Voldemort's son.

The idea won´t leave him alone. Harry needed to be safe. Who to trust? Who? Lord Voldemort had only ever been able to trust himself.

-0000-

Nagini curls around Harry, trying to wake him up. Lord Voldemort lets her be.

Harry would not wake up until Voldemort let him, and he is not sure when he will. Waking Harry up would mean having to deal with whatever Lily and James Potter would have tried to make Harry believe.

Lord Voldemort would have to prepare himself for the possibility of Harry rejecting him. To see his big, bright eyes, clouded in fear and hatred and horror. Meadowes and her words seem to whisper at the Dark Lord's ear every time he lies his eyes on Harry. Tomorrow, he always thinks. Tomorrow I will wake him up and show myself that Harry is still mine.

But Harry might prefer living with the Potters. He might prefer them, the warmth of his young, idiotic parents over the care of his soulmate. Lord Voldemort can't face that choice, if Harry ever were to make it. So, he lets the child sleep and removes any chance of Harry making the wrong choice.

He lets the snake whine.

-0000-

He has been over a particular idea for a few days now. It is a crazy one, mostly theoretical, and will require Voldemort to give Harry up now that he just got him back.

Maybe there is not a safe place for Harry Potter… but maybe there is a time.

He shakes his head and lets the thought go.

-0000-

He doesn't want to do it. It's risky, too open to what-ifs, and he is selfish. He wants Harry by his side. He wants to eat breakfast with him every day as they used to, wants to read him to sleep, hug him close, take back all the missing time. He doesn't want to let go. Not now, not ever. But playing the long game requires sacrifices.

He calls in Narcissa Malfoy.

The woman is nothing like his sister. Short, blonde, blue eyes. Not particularly loyal, like every Black. That thought used to amuse Lord Voldemort, now it just leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He looks at her, wondering what she would look like, sinking into the inferi lake as his cousin did. He knows she cried for days when she heard of Regulus' death.

"Tell me, Cissy." He uses Bella´s nickname just to see the woman squirm. "I'm informed that you have a child. Do you love him?"

Narcissa is sitting across from him, his big muggle studio desk between them, in his very own muggle house. One of the little pleasures he still gets from life is seeing the too-proud Blacks forced into submission by his dirty blood. Pollux Black would be rolling on his grave.

She takes some time to answer. A smart one, this girl. Narcissa doesn´t want to talk about her son with Lord Voldemort.

"With everything I am, my Lord," her voice is cold, a harsh contrast to her warm words.

They study each other, almost as one would measure a rival. The Dark Lord pours himself a cup of tea and does not offer one to her. The gesture makes Narcissa press her lips together. Voldemort almost smiles. So predictable, these purebloods.

"If you had to depart from him, for his own safety," he continues, "would you?"

This time, her answer is almost immediate.

"No."

Lord Voldemort ́s lips twitch. Narcissa ́s occlumency shields are strong, as any lady coming from a dark house should have them. They are not strong enough to stand against him.

"Why do you lie?"

The air around them turns heavy with Lord Voldemort´s displeasure. Narcissa sits up straighter, the perfectly styled hair moving barely an inch. She holds his gaze and doesn't back down. They both know Lord Voldemort is not here to talk about her beast of a child.

"My Lord, don't send the child away." Narcissa barely moves forward, her expensive perfume overwhelming even with the table separating them. "Not if it will get you back to the man you have been these last months. We can ́t win if you go back to that, master. I want my child to survive this war, as much as you want yours to do so. And we need you, being you."

She sits back quickly, scared she has said too much. Afraid that her words will bring her punishment.

Maybe it's the way Narcissa called Harry his child, but he makes his decision and lets her go. She is right, if Voldemort wishes to win a war he can't be distracted by feelings. The moment he had taken Harry in, everything had started to fall apart. If he was being honest with himself, the very second he had set eyes on the child the war had been an afterthought. A means to get Harry with him, not the path to the great end.

Tom Riddle had always known what his priorities were. Lord Voldemort had let them slide for so long they now threatened to end not only him, and all he had worked for, but Harry too.

Harry needs to go. That is the truth, as much as it hurts to admit it.

Maybe he doesn't punish her because, if in all these years, Narcissa Malfoy has been the only person to ever call Harry Lord Voldemort's son out loud.

-0000-

Wizards can't just play with time, Voldemort knows. Harry cannot be sent to the future, there is no telling when or how the war would end. It is too risky, too unpredictable, and the Dark Lord is done playing the chance card when it comes to Harry. He dismisses the idea almost as soon as it comes to mind. That only leaves one path. The past.

Quick. Easy. leave the child in the past, protected before the war, and then once Lord Voldemort wins, go back for him. But when?

Lord Voldemort stares at Harry, sleeping on the bed. The bruises on his skin are healing well, and the child looks calm. Under the morning sun coming from the window, his hair almost seems lighter. It reminds him of a little boy from long, long ago. Someone he once considered close enough to a soulmate.

The Dark Lord wonders if the answer had been right in front of his eyes all along.

-0000-

Traveling back in time is easy enough. Going back to the future, on the other hand, is not that easy. He spends entire nights up, exploring the libraries of some of the darkest families that follow him. Riddle Manor is forbidden territory, no one is allowed in since Harry came back. The house is surrounded by a cloud of dark magic so thick it clings to the Dark Lord's skin.

Voldemort will need something he can trace back to Harry, but their soulmark by itself would be too dull of a signal. It would not be powerful enough to let the Dark Lord follow it back to Harry and, surely, would not be enough to bring them back to their time. No soul bond is meant to stretch so far in time, after all. He needs something else, and he needs it quickly.

The Gaunt ring around his fingers hums, and that gives the Dark Lord and idea.

-0000-

It's the beginning of a summer night when a cloaked figure makes its way through London's streets. It moves quietly, blending in with the shadows.

The figure turns around the streets with familiarity, like it is walking a known path. When it reaches the old metal gates of a filthy looking building, it looks up. It's almost as if it hesitates, before walking through the doors of Wool's orphanage.

Lord Voldemort opens the doors of the building without touching them. The place smells of smoke and metal, just like the Dark Lord remembers. He wrinkles his nose. He had hoped the orphanage wasn't as awful as he recalled, but it seems he had held a pretty accurate memory of the place. Pity.

The stairs whine as they are stepped on. Harry, who sleeps in Voldemort's arms, stirs. He doesn't wake up and buries his face deeper into Voldemort's neck.

They reach the third floor without a problem. Then the empty room Lord Voldemort knows to be at the very end of the corridor. It's small and filthy, and Voldemort's arms grow tight around Harry's frame. He is about to turn around, to flee, but stops himself. This needs to happen, for both of them.

He lays Harry on the stiff mattress, and he can't help himself. He conjures up a warm blanket to cover Harry ́s body. The child doesn't react to it, the sleeping spell on him is too powerful to let him react to the temperature around him. Looking at him, thinking about what will happen next, Lord Voldemort has a moment of weakness.

The spell unravels around Harry and the child stirs. This is dangerous, for Dark Lord is sure that, if Harry ever asked him to not leave him alone, he would not be able to go. But there was another, deeper fear rotting Voldemort from the insides. The very reason why he had put Harry to sleep.

But he couldn't leave without hearing Harry´s voice one last time. He can´t.

"Father?" his voice is so low, still half asleep. The glamour on the child covers his usually green eyes, making them blue. The Dark Lord cradles Harry ́s face between his hands, trembling. The child does not recoil, or scream, or show any disgust. Harry just smiles, sleepy and dizzy, leaning into Voldemort´s touch.

"Hello, dear." The sweet name sounds foreign on Lord Voldemort's lips, but he can't bring himself to say anything else. His voice is tight with emotion, and he might be feeling inclined to do something distasteful, like cry.

Harry tries to blink up at him, but his eyes are heavy with the sleeping charm and they keep closing. The child brings one hand up to rub at his face and yawns.

"You came back," he sounds happy, if maybe somewhat distressed. The spell is too numbing for Harry to feel anything too intensely. "Missed you."

Lord Voldemort feels a knot in his throat. Oh, if Harry knew how much he was missed in return.

"I will always come back for you, my child. Always." Voldemort can feel the tight spell Harry is under prickling his skin. He doesn't have much time left until the spell comes completely off. He can´t let it get that far. When Harry´s magic pushes against his own, like a little lion cub roaring itself awake, the Dark Lord pushes back.

"I will always come back, remember that," he whispers as the sleeping charm sets around Harry again. Harry blinks once, twice, and slowly falls back asleep.

He will be so lonely, so scared when he wakes up.

The air is so cold, the night dark. Voldemort strokes Harry's cheek one last time before leaning in to kiss his forehead. The horcrux on the scar, now hidden by a glamour, buzzes happily under his mouth. With it, Voldemort would be able to anchor himself to Harry and push them together again, when the time comes. The horcrux will always call to its source, like a torch in the ocean of time between Harry and him.

The piece of Lord Voldemort's soul will also keep Harry safe, until Voldemort could return for him. The Dark Lord knows this. This, after all, already happened to him.

"Goodnight, Harry."

He leaves the room with one last look back. Harry's new hair, pale yellow, is the only thing he can see in the darkness of the night. It is almost comical, how time twists and turns and yet makes sense. Lord Voldemort's soulmate had been with him from the very beginning.

Maybe he has taken too much inspiration on Narcissa Malfoy for Harry's new look, but that is how he remembers him.

In the room next to Harry's, Tom Riddle sleeps. Lord Voldemort just spares him a glance. The child, much too young to be in Hogwarts, is curled on the edge of the bed. He looks weak and young, but he is the only person Lord Voldemort can trust. Strange, yet fitting, how in the end, Tom Riddle can only truly trust himself. Not Lord Voldemort, not the heir of Slytherin, but himself.

Take care of my son, he wants to say. But he will, Lord Voldemort knows. Just as Lord Voldemort took care of a young boy with pale hair and blue eyes, until he thought him dead.

Hopefully, death only meant Voldemort did win the war and took his son back. Hopefully.

There is a tight knot in Lord Voldemort´s chest. He swallows it down. Harry will be scared, and sad for a time, but never alone. Tom Riddle will take him under his wing and Harry will thrive under it, just as Voldemort remembers. He gives his younger self a last look, almost jealous, before turning back to the stairs. Time to take charge of Mrs. Cole.

-0000-

The clock announces midnight, loud and obnoxious and painful like a stab to the chest. Lord Voldemort breathes out, slow and steady.

There, he survived the first minute. Now, he just has to win a war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I did it!! I really didn´t think this would be ready today. i know is not very angsty, i was a bit dramatic in my last author note oops. But we still have an epilogue to go through...
> 
> Also uhm. Sorry for how the plot went so absolutely out of hand, but hey. 'Growing up together' was a big thing in Modoki´s like list and I´m here to WIN all the like points. Still sorry though, hope it didn´t ruin the story too much for you. I like the idea a lot, but I know it comes a bit out of nowhere even with the foreshadowing.
> 
> Now you can go back to that playlist and think again about the lyrics of Once Upon a Dream lmao. And thank you for all yout birthday wishes!! I was the happiest girl thanks to you all :)


	6. Epilogue: The Fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had a completely different epilogue on my drive for months, but something about it just didn´t seem right. I wasn´t happy with ending the story on that note, now, although i was when i first wrote the whole thing. Then, miss Taylor Swift came out with a brand new album out of the blue. After around 24h of listening to it again and again, I deleted almost everything I had written down, and wrote this instead. I hope you like it as much I do. 
> 
> Thank you all for joining me in this little trip, I never thought my little gen fic would interest so many of you. I loved every single review and bookmark you gave me.

**Epilogue.**

****

**The Wild Unknown deck**

**-**

Tom pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes. The summer heat was almost unbearable, and his old shirt clung to his skin like a wet embrace. Mrs Cole had forced him to shower under cold water once again that very morning, but he smelled of sweat. He cursed, something he had picked up from some of the older boys and that made the lady that walked past Tom stare at him in horror. The man she was walking with, tall with dark hair and clean-cut clothes, didn't even seem to see him. 

Tom ignored her, and the woman quickly ignored him in return, going back to whatever meaningless conversation she was having. Just as they stopped looking, Tom´s dark brown eyes followed them as they turned around the corner, hiding from the August sun. Her hair, tightly curled, bounced with each step. They didn't look drenched in sweat, like Tom did. The sun and the heat seemed small inconveniences in their lives as they laughed at something the man said. Tom´s eyes squinted a bit.

He didn't stop looking at them until they disappeared inside a shop. The place had big, dark wooden doors with golden accents that shone in the sunlight. It was the kind of place Tom would get harshly kicked out of without even being asked his name. Envy twisted his insides. He hated other people having things he didn´t.

The shop was momentarily hidden by a car passing by, slow and loud. Tom stopped paying attention to it, his eyes going back to the busy London streets. He twirled his hat in his hands. The small patch of shade he had managed to find was getting smaller and smaller by the minute, and he cursed again, running the sleeve of his shirt over his forehead. Once, the shirt had been white, many years ago. Many other orphans ago, too. Now it had a distinctive yellow color. Tom Riddle had slowly ended up hating that particular shade of pale yellow. 

He scanned the street again, the frown between his brows deepening the longer he waited. He hated waiting, almost as much as he hated heat, and pale yellow, and all those things that made him feel unimportant. A group of older men walked past him, smelling of tobacco and sweat, and ignored the sneer Tom silently sent their way. They spoke loudly and Tom moved a bit, his eyes back on the street after he quickly measured up the men and found them uninteresting. Their work shirts wore the same yellow shade his did.

How long had he waited? Twenty, thirty minutes? The sun was much higher than it was when they had left the orphanage, but Tom couldn't really tell the time. He had been forced to leave his pocket clock, the one he had stolen from that stupid man that came with donations for the orphans last month, in his room. It was well hidden, under a loose tile behind his wardrobe, where neither Mrs Cole nor the other harpies that worked in the orphanage would ever find it. Mrs Cole had started to search the childrens’ pockets every time they left the orphanage, and he couldn’t allow her to take it from him. He liked the clock very much, it was almost as big as his palm and the metal shone nicely in the moonlight.

Holding it in his hands felt good. Opening it in the middle of the night and knowing no other child in the orphanage but Tom had any idea what time it was felt good. No, Mrs Cole was not allowed to take that clock from him. Even if it meant Tom could not tell the time during the day. 

The sun hit another car just so, almost blinding him, and then Tom saw him. Rob. 

The boy had a skip to his step, as he appeared from behind the forest of people walking on the other side of the street, and Tom felt himself smile. For a moment he forgot about the heat, and the sweat, and the people around him looking right through him as if he was just part of the scenery. Rob looked across the street, trying to find him, and Tom waved his hat at him. When Rob found him, the boy’s face formed a smile brighter than the very sun.

Rob crossed the street, the small bag hanging from his side bouncing like the curls on that lady had. Tom stepped forward to meet him, and the other boy smiled brightly at him.

“Got it,” he said, proud of himself.

Tom´s lips curled upwards again. “What did the old rag give you?” he asked, already opening the bag that still hung from the other boy's shoulder.

Rob let him look through the bag. There were a couple of apples, some bread and, to Tom´s delight, a small glass of strawberry jam. “Brightcaster wasn't home today,” Rob said, his smile getting bigger as he saw the excitement growing on Tom´s features. “The kitchen girl sneaked me the jam.”

Tom nodded approvingly. The Brightcaster home was a very wealthy house, but lately they had started looking funny at Tom. With the looks came less and less leftover food. Tom knew perfectly well where the problem was: he didn't look that young anymore. Rich, stuck up prats were fine with feeding hungry little kids, but not so much with older children. Tom Riddle was quickly reaching that age where adults stopped seeing a child and started seeing a boy lazing around. He looked old, for an almost ten year old. Rob, on the other hand, not only was younger, but looked the part, too. 

His angelic blond hair appealed to the tastes of the rich old fools uptown, and his grey-blue eyes charmed kitchen staff every time. He still had some baby fat on his cheeks, and Tom had trained him to be bloody convincing when begging for food. Tom didn't know how much younger than him Rob was, but as long as it provided them with treats like that jam he didn't really care. Unless a child was born in the orphanage, like him, most children in Wool´s were not very sure of their age or actual birthdate. Those were parent things to remember, and not every child was abandoned with something like a name and a birthdate with them.

Once he fell satisfied with his examination of Rob´s bag, he took a piece of bread and bit into it. He let out a pleased sound, and Rob seemed to shine with pleasure at how much Tom approved of his findings. He was young enough to feel prouder by the fact that Tom liked what he brought than by managing to get it. Sometimes, Rob looked at him like Tom hung the sun from the sky every morning.

Not that Tom complained. He loved it. “Good work.” He offered the younger boy the next bite of the bread, and smiled at the way Rob´s eyes lit up. “Let's flee, before someone from Wool bleats to Cole about this.”

Rob made a face. “No one is going to do that, no one saw me!” he whined, but still ran after Tom when he started moving. 

The two boys ran between cars and people on the streets, ignoring the raised voices and the curses they raised on their way. Rob crashed into a young woman, who gave a high squeal, and Tom found himself laughing out loud when she actually tried to take a hold of the boy and failed miserably. Tom was swifter, faster, more used to the busy streets, and he danced around the sea of bodies and metal cars like an artist. He moved with the street elegance that could not really be taught, but learned after years of practice. 

Rob tried to keep up, and Tom would lie if he said he didn't enjoy being faster than the other boy. Sometimes Tom would rush a bit, enough so Rob would lose him in the crowd. When he saw the slight worry on Rob´s face, he would appear by his side again, just to see the boy's eyes brighten up again. The fact that, no matter how many times Tom did it, Rob always looked as pleased to see him, made him feel good.

They crossed a couple of streets more, and they soon entered a small alley. Tom got into the alley first, and stopped. The adrenaline in his veins made him grin from ear to ear, and he felt a burning sensation from head to toe. The second Rob got in too, sweaty and a red colour to his cheeks, Tom couldn´t resist his impulses. Sometimes he did things just for the sake of it, no actual reason or thought behind them. And so, as the blond boy turned the sharp corner, Tom pushed Rob against the wall as he ran past him. Rob crashed into the brick wall hard, and actually fell to the floor. Tom laughed, and just a second later he remembered that Rob was carrying that delicious jar of jam, that might now be smashed against the wall.

The other boy whined, getting up, with a pained look in his face. Rob adjusted his cheap, round glasses, which looked a bit too big for him. He brought a hand down to his injured knee, and sent an accusatory look at Tom. Suddenly, Tom went rigid. Not because he felt guilty, but in expectation. He couldn’t help but wonder, was this it?

Rob´s lower lip trembled. Tom looked at him, holding his breath. The other boy just stared at him for a little longer, before saying “Tom! Told you, that's not funny. It actually hurts.” 

And Tom relaxed, the easy smile back on his lips. Rob patted his bag. “Lucky, the jam is fine.”

Just like that, Rob forgot all about Tom pushing him and making him hurt, even though Tom could clearly see his scraped knees from where he stood.

Being around Rob was unlike being around anyone else, really. Rob never grew tired of him. He never held grudges, either, as if he truly didn't care Tom sometimes did things like that. He never left Tom to play with other children, never thought he was strange, or mean, or talked like Tom wasn't important. He never got angry when Tom did not apologize for things he did not feel guilty about.

Most importantly, Rob didn't want to leave. He wanted to remain in the orphanage, and so he would never be able to leave Tom.

Finally, the sun hid behind white clouds as Tom followed Rob past the alley, into the small park behind a paper factory. It wasn't really a park, but a splash of yellow grass at the lower part of a hill. Right from the other side of the hill came the sounds of a crowd, and music. Tom licked his lips, excitement growing in his chest. The circus.

Tom had been sneaking into the circus using that little park since he was so young he almost couldn't remember. It took him a whole year of knowing Rob before he decided to share his secret with him. The circus was something only Tom Riddle had access to. He had learned how to sneak in, had found that weak spot, and just like he did with the clock, he only wanted it for himself. But Rob was special.

Rob had never been mean to him. Rob never called him bad names or told him he didn't want to be around him. Rob always seemed to be happy to just be around Tom. And, weird enough, Tom always enjoyed it, too. Rob was not boring, like the other children. He was not predictable either, but above anything else, Rob made Tom feel wanted like he had never felt before. 

The last two summers, Tom had been sneaking Rob into the circus with him. Once inside, no one even looked at them twice. They blended in with the rest of the children running around the place, free entrance and as many shows they could sneak into without getting caught. The only thing between them and the circus was the tall metal fence, but Tom had already conquered it long ago. There was a small part of the fnce that had been damaged years ago, during a lightning storm. Now, if one pushed a part of the fence, it gave in a little. A child could easily squeeze in through it.

Tom rushed to the top of the hill before Rob, taking the scene in front of him with greed. He wanted to run down, but waited. He kept looking back at Rob, until the boy managed to climb the hill and look over the circus. 

The colorful tents extended over the wide park in front of them. It was almost midday, and with the sun so high and the heat so merciless, the circus was not as packed as other days. Still, there were enough people around that two more children would not look out of place.

Tom could hardly wait. He wanted to see everything. The people who breathed fire. The people that could walk on their hands. The big beasts. He never got tired of it.

They moved around the tents, sharing the bread and jam, looking around with eyes big and filled with wonder. From time to time, Rob would bump into Tom, a smudge of strawberry jam on his chin, and laugh. Everytime, Tom would stare at him.

No one touched Tom. Never. The kids in the orphanage hated him, always ran from him whenever he said something rude or played rough. The women taking care of the orphanage couldn’t stand him, his pretty face deceiving them one too many times. People in the streets looked past him, uncaring of yet another orphan child being cold, or hungry, or alone. Sometimes, when Tom was younger, he wondered if he was just invisible. 

He had learned early that no, he wasn’t invisible. It was simpler than that. He was just unwanted. A spare for the people in the London streets, whose pity was reserved for children younger and less cunning-looking than Tom. A spare for the caretakers of the orphanage, whose priorities lied with more docile, sweeter children. A stranger among the other children, who looked at him and saw something they lacked.

Most children in the orphanage were meek and stupid, but not Tom. He had always been smart, something that made the other children look at him with envy. But he wasn't like the other smart children from the public school, either. Unlike them, Tom knew smarts only got a boy like him so far. So he was tough, too. Always standing his ground, having trouble bending his head and giving in. Because most boys like him – poor, abandoned, marked as outcasts – never won anything by being polite. And the thing Tom liked most in life was winning. 

People around him did not like that. They didn't like anything about Tom, really. But it didn't matter, because one day Tom would leave all of these people behind. He would shred everything that made him insignificant, even if he had to skin himself alive to do so. He would never be hungry, or cold, or dressed in pale, dirty yellow, and he would laugh as he left all those people to rot.

But not Rob. Rob didn't even flinch whenever Tom used his special tricks. He didn't look afraid or angry either. No, Rob had caught Tom in the middle of one of his freakish tricks, and had glued himself to Tom.

And Tom would keep him, just for himself.

Tom´s eyes followed Rob´s every movement. The boy laughed when a clown offered him a little flower, and failed to see how the man´s stare turned dark and displeased when Rob failed to give him some money for it. Tom glared at the man, but the clown only sent another nasty look at them. The man took in their clothes and slightly dirty faces, realizing there was no money to be made from them. With a sneer, he turned around and left. Rob was blissfully ignorant, smelling his little daisy flower.

It was as if life didn't ever affect him. Rob seemed to live in his own little world, where nothing could really harm him. His grey eyes found Tom´s brown ones, and Rod thrust the flower in Tom´s hands. 

“Here,” he said, to Tom´s surprise. “For you.”

The flower stood between them, a pretty, white spot between Rob´s beaming smile and Tom´s slowly growing frown.

“He gave it to you,” Tom said, eyeing the weed with indifference. Things like that, plants and animals were not worth keeping. They always died, sooner rather than later, and they started to smell. Tom could only own them for a short amount of time, unlike his stolen clock. 

Rob didn't seem to care. “But it's pretty. Don't you like it?”

Before the scene got too ridiculous Tom took the plant. Although he didn't particularly want it, he still felt a little rush run through him as he took the flower. He liked that it was his, now. Liked the feeling that the stupid clown had lost his stupid flower, and now Tom owned it. Tom, who the clown had looked with disdain and ignored. 

He felt the urge to crush the flower in his hand, vicious, but before he gave into his instincts Rob made a pleased sound. “I knew you'd like it. Those are my father's favourite flowers.”

Tom felt his lips twitch. His mouth pressed together tightly, but of course Rob didn't seem to notice. The blond boy scratched his forehead, quickly distracted by a parade of colourful dressed women. 

There was only one thing Tom disliked about Rob. The boy had been left at the orphanage young, and he had been so sad he had refused to talk for a long time. He had even refused to say his name, and so one of the kitchen girls had started calling him Rob, after a character in a book she was reading. It took the child a while, but Rob ended up getting used to both the name and the orphanage. They all did, in the end.

He hadn't been that interesting, at first. Tom had not even looked at him twice for half the first year Rob spent and Wool´s. Mostly because he found stupid children irritating. And Rob had been very, very stupid when he first got into Wool´s. For starters, the boy would not shut up about how his family would come back for him. 

It irked Tom a lot. Rob´s family wouldn't come back, because he didn't even have one. Unlike Tom, Rob didn´t even have a surname. At least Tom had Riddle, but Rob was named Robert Wool, after the orphanage, like all the other foundlings who lived there. Rob had been _abandoned,_ and he didn't even have his real name. No one was coming back for him. Rob was all Tom´s. So Tom didn't appreciate it whenever he brought it up. Thankfully, he didn't do it much anymore. Rob didn't really talk about his life before the orphanage.

Tom was a curious boy by nature and, being so close to Rob, he was sure he could have tricked the boy into sharing his secrets. Tom just didn't want to know any of it. He didn't want to know about Rob´s life if it didn't involve Tom.

Rob scrabbled at the bottom of the jam jar with his fingers, and Tom shoved the daisy deep in his pocket. When the blond boy left his side to talk to the colourful women, Tom tried to convince himself he didn't have anything to be angry for. It didn't matter what Rob thought, his stupid family was not coming back for him. And Rob refused to leave the orphanage with any family that wasn't his, so there was no one out there who could steal Rob from Tom. No one at all.

Still, a rebellious thought lingered in his mind. He felt envy. 

He wasn't even sure why. Was it because Rob had family that had wanted him, or so he seemed to think? But that was a lie, because he had been abandoned in even worse conditions than Tom. Was it because he feared Rob would keep waiting for them, eager to leave with his family and leave Tom behind? 

… Maybe. Maybe he just wanted to feel like Rob was completely, truly his, and not anyone else´s.

As he looked at Rob, all bright pale hair and charming smiles, tricking those women into giving him candy they bought for themselves, he frowned. 

Sometimes, Tom would stare at Rob for a long time. Maybe, if Tom willed it so, he could mark Rob as his soulmate. Then he wouldn't think about that stupid family of his or leaving Tom ever again. Soulmates only needed each other, after all. If Tom had a soulmate, that person would be only _his,_ forever. No one had ever wanted him, not really, but his soulmate wouldn't be able to refuse.

But Tom was unmarked, and so was Rob. That at least gave Tom some peace. Maybe, if neither of them had soulmates, Tom could keep them together. He didn't know much about the topic, but at least that meant one less person to compete against for Rob´s attention. 

The boy was smiling at the women when a soothing, quiet melody reached Tom´s ears. Someone was whistling a slow tune, but the sound was almost covered by the chatter and music coming from inside the tents. Rob seemed to still, looking around, but Tom dismissed it quickly. He found exactly what he was looking for. 

A little table, surrounded by thick dark fabrics, with two women talking behind it. It pulled Tom in like a magnet.

The two women smoked, completely unaware of the way Tom was drinking them in with his eyes. The one sitting behind the desk had dark skin and darker hair, and every time she talked she moved her hands around. The colorful beads hanging from her sleeves sounded every time she moved. The other was tall, her hair long and brown, with little wrinkles around her mouth. She was dressed in a faded blue dress, and had a deep voice. 

His stare caught the attention of the tall one, who moved her head towards him. 

“Handsome boy,” she said, her smile red against her light skin. She had a strange accent, something Tom had not heard around in London, but distinctively english. “Looks like someone wants to know their future.”

Tom was fascinated by fortune tellers, always had been. Maybe it was because they always told him what he wanted to hear.

He nodded. He had stolen seven pennies from Mrs Cole, a daring thing to do. The darker skinned woman smiled too, when she saw the copper coins shining in Tom´s hand.

“Fancy a reading, love?” she asked, sweet, but Tom could see the greed in the eyes of both women. It was not much money, yet any money was better than no money. The tall woman smiled down at him, while the other pushed a short curl behind her ear and took out a purple velvet bag. Tom could feel his chest tightened with anticipation. 

He took one quick look around, looking for Rob, but didn´t find him among the circle of women he had been with a second before. Tom caught that sad little tune again, over the sounds of the crowd, and the tall woman urged him to pay. Tom gave her just half the money, as he always did. He could barely afford a single reading every time the circus came to London, but he wasn't stupid. There was no way he was paying full until the women gave him a lengthy enough reading. The first year he had gotten one, the woman had dismissed him with just two or three words. He never made that mistake again.

The tall woman pursed her lips a bit, but accepted the money. Tom might look like a child, but he would not be tricked. Both women shared a look, and the dark skinned one threw her cig to the floor, blowing the smoke over her head.

“Right,” she said. “Name´s Shirley, dear. Your´s?” 

Tom didn't like his name. Never had. It was bland, forgettable. Not things he enjoyed being associated with. “Tom.”

The woman smiled, her teeth whiter than Tom had expected for a circus performer. “Tom,” she repeated. “Beautiful.”

The name Tom was anything but beautiful, he felt tempted to say, but just smiled politely at the woman. He looked around again and finally found Rob. He was a bit far away, near a little hill at the edge of the circus. His blond hair was impossible to miss. Tom had no idea what Rob was looking for. That part of the circus was less busy, there was no way the boy would find anything good to share later, when both Rob and Tom went back to Wool´s and shared their secret treats in Tom´s room after dinner. 

“C´mon, choose one, darling.”

Tom looked back at the table, where the woman had placed the cards in a sort of fan-like shape. The back of the cards was a busy black and white design, with thin lines that seemed almost hypnotic. Tom licked his lips, and pulled one out, face down. The woman smiled, putting the card aside with one finger. As she was about to take her finger from the card, she shivered. With a frown, she took her hand back.

The taller woman took another drag at her cigarette, looking at Tom with a curious glint in her eyes. “Another,” she said.

Tom raised a brow. He had never had two people reading his cards, but well. His right hand hovered over the table, and picked a second one. This time the darker woman, Shirley, moved quicker, and signaled him to take one last card. Tom complied, and soon enough three little cards stood innocently at the edge of the table.

The two women looked at each other, and the tall one spoke again. “Pick another.”

Shirley´s eyes opened wide. “Ismat–” she started, but the other woman leaned over the table, towering over Tom. “Go on,” she said, “another.”

There was something Tom disliked just as much as being hungry or ignored, and that was being told what to do. “I'm not about to pay extra,” he spat, his charade of nice, shy boy dissolving for a moment with a grimace. Ismat held his glare.

She moved a hand over the cards, “This one is on the house, kid. Now pick.”

Shirley was quiet, looking between them. Tom felt like he was being tricked, and he really, really, didn't like it. He looked up looking for Rob again, and he found him right under a tree, at the top of that same hill. He was talking to a man, his back to Tom. He felt himself frown, but Ismat hurried him, again.

Tom clenched the pennies he had left in his fist. “I don't believe you,” he said. “Why would you not want the money?”

Ismat sent him a nasty look, but it was Shirley who answered. “Just do it, kid. Can´t you feel that there is something in the air today?”

No, Tom didn't feel like anything was happening. Well, anything aside from those two women trying to mess with him instead of telling Tom about his great, great future, far away from London and Wool´s. Still, he would be lying if he didn't say he was a bit excited. If they wanted him to take more cards out, that would mean something special was happening, right? They were making an exception for him. His future was just _that_ important, a normal reading simple wouldn't cut it.

Biting his lower lip, he sent one last glare at Ismat before looking closely at the cards. _One more_ , he thought. He stole a quick glance at the three cards already lying apart from the group. What did those say? He stuck his hand over the cards again but, as he pulled his chosen card out, another one came with it, as if they were stuck together.

Before he could even speak, Ismat threw away her own cig too, and took the cards from his hand. Without even blinking, Shirley arranged the other cards Tom had picked, in order. Tom closed his opened mouth, and drank the sight.

The first card was turned, revealing an ugly, dead bird. Shirley just nodded. 

She moved to the next cards, not looking at Tom, quickly turning the second one, and then the third. First was a star, then a bright, strange arrange of lines.

“Death,” muttered Shirley. She shared a quick look with Ismat, “The star, The sun.”

The other woman pursed her lips, and she was next, turning the cards she had taken from Tom´s very hands, the ones that had stuck together. A tree, a bat. Ismat lips trembled. “The tower. The hanged man.”

It had to be important, it _had to_. Why else would those two women be staring at the cards as if they were alive? This was something else, like the things Tom could do, he was sure.

Tom was so fascinated he looked up, looking for Rob to signal him to come. His eyes quickly searched for him under the tree, and his gaze was met with an unexpected one. The man Rob was talking too was looking past Rob, directly at Tom. Rob was looking up at the man. They could be touching, he couldn´t really tell. That, Tom didn't like. They were a bit too far away to really see the man´s face, but Tom tilted his head. Under the man's hat Tom half catched a bright coloured light. 

There was no way that color came from his eyes, right? No one's eyes just light up like that. And no one´s eyes were bright, crimson _red._

Then, suddenly, a blow of wind sneaked in between the tents. It caressed Tom´s sweaty forehead, and the cards on the table trembled. Just as Shirley was about to scoop them up to protect them from the wind, which seemed to come from nowhere, the card at the very end of the line was blown away. It twirled in the air, the wax covering it reflecting the daylight for just a moment, before it landed on the ground, facing up.

“Oh dear,” Tom heard Shirley faintly say.

He picked the card up, curious. It was a little duck.

That's when Tom heard the first scream, and the fire started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have three words for you: Cockney Tom Riddle.  
> Also, stream Folklore by TS.  
> Oh, and, yes. You might have noticed that this fic is now part of a series. Check that out, you might enjoy what I did. Also, for everyone curious about what happened in Voldemort´s timeline, that sequel is what you might be looking for. Lucky you, it´s up already!
> 
> For anyone curious about the whistle, yes. it is supposed to be the same song Voldemort taught Harry, that day on the beach. Personally, I wrote that thinking of/listening to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5DCrdHvJlQ), but feel free to headcanon whatever you want!
> 
> Never forget: the d in Voldemort stands for dad

**Author's Note:**

> And finally this fic is completed! Thanks for reading everyone :)  
> For anyone interested:  
> Pinterest board: [Tentative board](https://pin.it/EPjRcFA)  
> Spotify playlist: [Tentative playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1p5UpCaALTqxsuC9bqSWur?si=IsPSSp51QC27g1ems6_40Q)  
> Some [aesthetics](https://acnara.tumblr.com/post/630174153181478912/tentative-by-acnara-posters-and-aesthetics-for) and [covers](https://acnara.tumblr.com/post/630172473207472128/tentative-by-acnara-for-moonlight-modoki) too!  
> And come hang at my tumblr: [acnara](https://acnara.tumblr.com/) if you feel like it!


End file.
